I Promised You a sneak peek…

And here it is! Enjoy the prologue of Wake of the Huntress, the first book of the Beyond the Mountains Trilogy!

Prologue

“Dormastis ruled, but now he sleeps. Forever in darkness, but never in peace.”

-Ancient poem, author unknown

Darkness is cold, heavy, and penetrating. Darkness is universal. Some embrace it. Some run from it. Some avoid it at all costs. Being afraid of the dark does not mean one is afraid of the darkness itself but of what might be in it. Darkness makes one very aware of oneself and the possibility of what might be around them. It has a habit of working its way into the flesh, the bones, and the soul. 

This was the feeling that engulfed the woman who stood at the top of the old dungeon stairway, her trembling fingers gripping the door frame with one hand. There would typically be torches lighting the hall and the way down the staircase, perhaps even a guard at the entrance. This dungeon, however, was long abandoned. The only sound to be heard was the occasional drip of water falling from the grimy ceiling.

The woman glanced around to ensure she hadn’t been followed and jumped slightly as the courtyard clock struck midnight. She froze for a moment after the last gong, thankful those who lived in the castle with her had learned to sleep through the hourly disturbance. She could not afford to be caught. This crumbling old corner of the fortress was not often visited by anyone, let alone a member of the royal family. Its purpose was long forgotten, and no one cared enough to have it repaired. So here this old hall sat, the perfect setting for the nefarious deeds that now took place in the rotting chambers below. 

Content that she was alone, the woman turned back to the blackness and shuddered in the draftiness coming from the empty doorway. Get ahold of yourself, Marania, she thought. Facing this is nothing compared to what you’ve just done. She took a deep breath and started down the stairs, gingerly closing the creaking wooden door behind her. The rancid air stung her nose, and the stone wall under her fingertips felt wet and rough. She wished she had a light, but it had been forbidden. She would have to feel her way down. 

The duchess had never been in darkness such as this. It was almost suffocating. She felt herself begin to sweat, although she suspected that if the room had been lighter, she would have been able to see her breath in the cold. She made her way down the staircase one step at a time. With every step, she moved her foot forward as far as she dared and finally found the floor flat. She must have reached the hallway between the old cells. When The Scythe of Dormastis first approached her, they seemed so powerful and elegant, the perfect group of people to help her. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting for her first meeting with them, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

 At the end of the hallway, she could just barely make out the glow from a small, sputtering candle in the wall. According to the map she’d memorized and burned, that was her destination. Her sweaty hand shook, and she tightened her grasp on the tiny vial she held, the liquid inside still warm. With a deep breath, she started forward again, feeling her heart pound and chest tighten with every step. 

As she approached the glow of the candlelight, Marania couldn’t tell if she was shivering from cold, fear, or the sheer adrenaline of what she had just done. Murder wasn’t something she was prone to. At least, that’s what she’d thought until tonight. She was dreading what would happen in the morning when her act was discovered. No one would know it had been her. She’d made sure of that. It was the first terrifying yet necessary step toward getting what she deserved. Now, she had only to present the proof of her loyalty to those who could get her there. 

Having reached the candle, she carefully felt along the ledge it was resting on, willing her fingers to find what her eyes could not see. There! A tiny notch in the stones, engraved with the shape of a scythe. She pushed, and the stone reluctantly gave way with a scraping sound, triggering the hidden door to slowly creak open and reveal another hallway. This one was lit on both sides with torches, and Marania had to shield her eyes from the burst of light. When she moved her hand away from her face, she gasped and took a step back, finding a man in a black robe standing before her. A hood covered his head, and his face was masked in silver. She’d been warned her escort would be in disguise.

“Lady Marania, we’ve been expecting you. Please follow me.” He turned and walked down the hall. 

Marania took a moment to steel herself, then followed. It was a small comfort that she recognized her companion’s voice. It’s only Lord Kels. You sat next to him at supper this evening and discussed the gardens. She hadn’t expected the proceedings to be so mysterious and formal, although their supposed connection to Dormastis should have been indicative of some of their…customs. As far as she was aware, the ancient sorcerer was nothing more than a myth. On the other hand, even in the legends, he wasn’t exactly what one would call benevolent.

Following Lord Kels down the sparsely lit hallway, she began to hear a muffled chant, which grew more distinct as they approached what must have once been an oversized communal cell. The floor was peppered with dripping candles, stuck to the stones with the melting wax, casting an eerie glow on the walls. In the middle of the chamber, the assembled company of The Scythe of Dormastis circled around another engraving of their namesake tool, surrounded by delicately carved flames. Surprisingly, there were only six figures, all wearing the same dark hoods and chanting in an ancient and forgotten language, their voices low and unsettling.

As they approached the circle of figures, Kels motioned for Marania to pause behind him. The chanting died down, then abruptly stopped, leaving the room in a deafening silence. The two nearest members had left enough of an opening for Kels to lead her into the middle of the circle. She glanced nervously. Though every man or woman under those dark hoods and silver masks was a member of the royal court, they had all betrayed their ruler with one common goal in mind—to put the duchess on the throne. 

Once in the center of the company, Kels stepped aside. Marania was left staring as another man approached. His crimson robe and gold mask singled him out from the others, and his slow, rigid movements seemed to obscure the rest of the imposing scene from her vision. She fought the urge to back away and yet couldn’t even make herself blink. Attempting to smother her fear, she straightened her back and stood to her full height.

“Lady Marania Donavar,” the man greeted her in a honeyed, thin voice. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it to our little gathering. We are pleased to have you join us for the first time.”

She tried to speak with confidence. “Thank you for having me, My Lord.” Do I know this one? His voice wasn’t familiar, and she didn’t dare ask for a name. Does it really matter? No. It didn’t. 

“Do you have what we requested?” The man extended his hand expectantly. Marania looked at the tiny vial she held that contained the blood. Her sister’s blood. She gingerly placed it in his waiting palm, and the man examined its contents. “It’s hers?” 

Marania felt a shiver go down her spine at the fresh memory of entering her sister’s chambers with a dagger in her gloved hand. Not even an hour had passed since. “Yes. I took care of it myself.” 

A wave of murmurs rounded the assembly. Her host cocked his head. “Very daring of you, I must say. You’re sure it’s completely taken care of?” He sounded as if he was testing her.

“Without a doubt.” 

“And the weapon?” 

“Disposed of. Furthermore, no one will ever know it was me.” This man didn’t need to know “disposed of” simply meant keeping it on her person from now on.

Satisfied, the man turned away from her to address the circle. “My friends, the future queen has completed the first stage of our plan. We shall now proceed.”

He removed the cork stopper from the vial and slowly poured the blood into the engraving on the floor, speaking the same old language from the chants as he did so. Marania watched as it flowed into the grooves. The image now looked stained and grotesque, much like the blade she still had concealed under her skirts. Once the vial was empty, the man gestured for the group to join the chant. The unsettling chorus of voices returned, giving Marania a shudder as they filled her ears. Her eyes widened as the blood on the floor slowly evaporated and disappeared. She had never seen magic with her own two eyes. 

The voices stopped abruptly. 

“Dormastis has accepted our offering and will help us in our endeavor,” their leader stated with finality. 

Marania frowned. “Isn’t Dormastis a myth? And even if he isn’t, what does he have to do with me taking over the throne?”

A sneer entered the man’s voice. “Is that what you’ve been taught? That magic does not exist?”

What she’d been taught was that Dormastis did not exist. At the moment, however, she didn’t see that fact helping her. “Magic itself is rare enough,” she stated carefully. “On that basis alone, someone as powerful as he is said to have been is impossible.” 

The man’s eyes glinted through his mask. Marania thought she could see even his terrifying smile under the painted mouth. His face moved within inches of hers, and she took a step back. 

“You do not know how wrong you are, my dear. While Dormastis no longer exists in this realm, his power is everything you have heard and more. We are his acolytes here, and we, with the help of his magic, will succeed in our plan.” The man backed up and crossed his arms over his chest.

Marania had not been aware of any magic involved in securing her place on the throne. Nearly a thousand years had passed since the last of Enderhail’s magic had all but disappeared. “If Dormastis is real, and he has this power, why now? And why help me?”

“The world is poised for change. He believes you are best suited to help guide Enderhail through that change. You possess the kind of strength and conviction that will be required for such a period.” 

Marania was slightly taken aback. It all sounded too good to be true. But if this sorcerer was indeed what he was purported to be, why not her? After all, the throne was meant to be hers. She committed murder to prove it. It wouldn’t be in vain. “Thank him for me. For trusting me with the task.”

“Thank you for being willing to prove your loyalty. The wheels have now been set in motion, but things cannot proceed too quickly. We must bide our time if we don’t want to arouse suspicion. We will approach you when the next stage of the plan is ready.” He bent to break a candle off the floor and handed it to her. 

Marania nodded respectfully, acknowledging her dismissal, and turned to go back the way she had come.

“Oh, and one more thing,” her host caught her off guard, “you know, there is still one small...barrier that may keep us from achieving our goal. Are you familiar with the race of nomadic people known as the Havani?”

“Of course I am,” Marania said flatly. “My sister’s husband hates them. He doesn’t believe they can be trusted.”

“Well, he may be right, my lady. The Havani are a race who possess the power of Sight, the ability to catch glimpses of the future. They can even See past and present if they are strong enough. They don’t all have this ability, but enough do…” He hesitated, his air of control faltering slightly for the first time. “It’s entirely possible that one of these Havani might have Seen us enacting our plan and will take action to stop it.”

Marania scoffed. “Why would they possibly interfere? They don’t even acknowledge my brother-in-law as their king. Nor did they acknowledge my father, who foolishly accepted their self-proclaimed right to autonomy. They still have no respect for the crown.”

“That may be true, but do you think that would keep them from reporting what they See in vision if they perceived it to be the right thing to do? They may not submit to the monarchy, but they believe themselves to be honorable.” The Scythe leader swallowed a laugh of contempt. “Do you think you could somehow...persuade the king to, shall we say, take care of them? At least the Seers, that is. That task will also serve to distract him from discovering our plot.” 

The duchess calmed herself. “I’m sure I can manage that,” she replied. “There can’t be many of them, and there must be a way to differentiate between who has this power and who does not.”

“I’m sure. Now, you know who you can trust. Speak of this to no one else.” The man put one finger to where his mouth would be. 

Marania nodded and finally left the room, her footsteps quickening as she disappeared down the hall. 

The crimson-cloaked man stared after her and narrowed his coal-black eyes under his mask. Until this evening, he hadn’t been wholly convinced she would do what had been asked. He wasn’t often surprised, but Marania had fulfilled her end of the bargain. The queen was dead by the hand of her own sister. Now, she just had to do what she was told and leave the rest to The Scythe. 

The deep voice of Lord Kels interrupted his thoughts. “I didn’t realize it would be so easy to make her turn on her sister. How did you manage it, Talis?”

“When one wants something badly enough, they will sacrifice almost anything to get it. I know from experience.” Talis turned to Kels. “She will only talk to you and Lady Enid. Try to keep her focused. The rest of us will work to expand our number and influence. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“What if she discovers our true plan?” Kels asked.

Talis looked around at the few other members of the group, who were removing their masks and robes. “By the time that happens, it will be far too late. Those vagabonds need to be gone before our master can regain his power. If we can get that pathetic king to do the dirty work for us, no one will be the wiser.” An evil smile played at the corners of the golden mouth on his mask. “And if he happens to die in the process, all the better.”