Avondale Read online

  Avondale

  Toby Neighbors

  Avondale

  © 2014 Toby Neighbors

  Published by Mythic Adventure Publishing

  Post Falls, Idaho

  All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Copy Editing by Martin Coffee

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Books By Toby Neighbors

  Wizard Rising

  Magic Awakening

  Hidden Fire

  Fierce Loyalty

  Crying Havoc

  Evil Tide

  Wizard Falling

  Lorik

  Lorik the Defender

  Lorik the Protector

  Third Prince

  Royal Destiny

  The Other Side

  The New World

  Dedication

  To my dad, Thurman Lunsford, for loving me and supporting my dreams

  and

  as always, to Camille, the great love of my life.

  Chapter 1

  Tiberius

  The Prefect was explaining a rather tedious section of the sacred scripture. Tiberius, third son of Lord Aegus, Earl of Avondale, didn’t always hate the Prefect’s lectures. There were sections of the ancient scriptures that were full of battles or intense showdowns between the servants of Addoni, the one true god, and Rastimus, the deceiver. Unfortunately today was not one of those lectures, but rather a long explanation of the history of Addoni’s followers.

  Tiberius did his best to pay attention, but his mind kept returning to the martial drills that were coming up in the next few days. He’d failed both his sword test and his hand-to-hand fighting test. If he didn’t pass the martial drills, he would never become a Paladin; instead, he would be forced to become a Priest. In truth, Tiberius didn’t want to be a Paladin or a Priest, nor did he relish the idea of becoming a Prefect teaching in dull classrooms all day. But what Tiberius wanted wasn’t important to anyone, certainly not his father or his older brother, Leonosis, who all but ruled Avondale in their father’s place. Tiberius had never whispered his own dream to anyone; it was too dangerous. His greatest desire was forbidden. In fact, it was Tiberius’ great shame that he longed for it at all. He did his best to choke down his dream, and focus on the reality of what his life would be.

  The gong of the huge warning bell sounded, and the tedious lecture was suddenly cut short.

  “Ah, ah, class…” the startled Prefect stammered.

  Tiberius didn’t wait to hear the dismissal. Instead, he raced out of the lecture hall and sprinted up the wide stone steps that made up the city streets of Avondale, toward the great wall that encircled the entire mountaintop city. His heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily by the time he reached the royal castle. From there, he turned into the round lookout tower and climbed the steep spiral staircase that led to the top of the structure.

  His legs burned, and his side cramped, but the warning bell continued to ring, so Tiberius kept climbing. Each massive peel of the huge brass bell reverberated through the city, and Tiberius felt the vibrations deep in the pit of his stomach. The warning bell was only sounded when the city was under attack by one of the massive creatures from the blighted lowlands, and Tiberius was anxious to see what was throwing his father into a panic.

  He was gasping for breath by the time he finally reached the top of the watchtower. There were half a dozen men, all in uniform, staring out over the southern edge of the city. Tiberius hurried over to the thick, wooden guard that ran around the edge of the tower. He leaned against the wooden frame, his body sagging from fatigue. Stamina was never his strong suit, he admitted bitterly.

  Most of the lowlands were covered with a thick layer of clouds, effectively blocking most of the view for miles and miles around Avondale. The city itself was like a finely wrought wedding band, built on the circular top of an extinct volcano. The city was built of stone and timber, running around the massive wall that was built on the mountain’s circular lip. Inside the city was a massive crater, green with life. The edges were terraced and farmed by the freemen of Avondale under Tiberius’ father’s watchful eye. Beyond the green fields were massive trees, mostly pine, growing tall and strong; even when the snows fell, the trees were green. And in the very center was the crown jewel of Avondale, a deep lake of fresh, untainted water that supplied the city with drinking water and the fields with irrigation so that Avondale had more than enough, year after year.

  None of that registered to Tiberius, even though his gaze fell across the wonder of his father’s city. He was focused instead on the huge creature slowly climbing up the rugged mountainside. It was huge, taller than the city walls and nearly as wide. It had huge legs with three-toed claws that dug into the mountainside as it lumbered forward. Its head was round, with a flat face, and flapping jowls that hung on either side of enormous teeth that protruded from the creature’s mouth at odd angles. Two massive horns came up on either side of the creature’s head, angling up and then curving back toward each other over the top of the beast’s round head. Its eyes were tiny and completely black. Its body was thick and round, the belly almost touching the ground.

  “What is it?” Tiberius said out loud.

  “It’s a Forkus,” said one of the soldiers. “They’re nasty creatures.”

  “Why is coming up the mountain?”

  “Probably smells the water,” the soldier said. “There’s precious little clean water left in the wastelands.”

  “Could be controlled by a dark wizard,” said another. “They created the mutants after all.”

  “There’s no more wizards,” said the first soldier. “They all died in the cataclysm or were executed soon after.”

  Tiberius felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t sure if it was the sight of the huge beast lumbering up the mountainside or the conversation about wizards that bothered him more. He watched as soldiers began jogging along the city wall and taking positions nearest to the creature. The beast wasn’t close enough to attack the city yet, and Tiberius knew that it was doubtful it would make it that far before the soldiers turned it back. But if it did, the brave men on the wall would give their lives to stop it. He felt a swelling of pride for their valor, but also a sliver of fear. He didn’t think he could place himself in the path of danger the way the soldiers did.

  “Commander Grentz has the Ballistae manned,” said the first soldier excitedly. “They’ll show that bloody creature what we’re made of.”

  This was the moment that everyone in Avondale waited for. The city was known for its wealth, its resources, and its armaments. It was the only source of Hylum, the invaluable gas that made the sky ships possible. It was also where the greatest weapons in the kingdom were invented. The ballistae were huge crossbows that fired giant bolts as big as a tall man. They were mounted around the city walls and took whole teams of men to load, draw, and fire, but they were ruthlessly efficient at beating back the mutated monsters that sometimes tried to scale the mountain and endanger the city.

  The ballistae bolts were made of pine, with two triangular heads made of steel, one mounted up and down, the other side to side, fused together at the tip and honed razor sharp. The Forkus had a thick leathery skin, but it was no match for the ballistae bolts. Tiberius watched as the first weapon was fired. Even high above the city on the massive watchtower, he could hear the thrum of the thick ropes that hurled the bolt as the tension was released. The first bolt flew true, hurtling down on the Forkus like an angry strike of lightning. The bolt hit the huge beast just inside its left shoulder, below the huge he
ad. The resulting roar shook the city and made Tiberius grab hold of the wooden railing around the top of the watchtower.

  “That’s a hit!” crowed one of the soldiers.

  The ballistae were mounted at strategic positions around the city walls. More of the powerful weapons were being loaded as the teams that fired them worked feverishly while their officers barked orders at them. Two more bolts were shot at the Forkus; one hit on the creature’s shoulder, where it broke the skin, but then rebounded off the massive bone underneath. The other slammed into the beast’s side.

  The creature roared again—this time there was more pain in the deafening shriek. The beast turned its head, looking back down the mountain, then reared up on its hind legs, the massive claws pawing the air. Another bolt was shot and it sunk into the Forkus’ soft belly. The beast winced, then staggered to the side, before toppling over. It was far from dead, but the ballistae bolts were wounding it. The creature obviously wasn’t used to being harmed. It slowly turned back from the city and began moving back down the mountain.

  The soldiers on the watchtower cheered in triumph, and Tiberius saw other groups along the walls celebrating as well. But the soldiers who had placed themselves on the wall between the Forkus and the city stood like statues, watching until the huge monster disappeared in the thick fog that shrouded the wastelands.

  Chapter 2

  Lady Olyva

  Olyva was impatient. She hated being engaged to a man she didn’t know. She hated being sent across the wastelands in the floating ship, having to leave her home and family, only to feel like a stranger in Earl Aegus’ palace. But most of all she hated always waiting for everything. Why should she be forced to wait in her dreary chamber when everyone else was outside watching as Lord Aegus’ men fought whatever foul creature approached the city? Sometimes, she hated being a girl.

  She paced back and forth across the narrow space in front of the small fireplace that warmed her rooms. Her maid, an older woman named Hellen, sat quietly in the small wooden chair beside the hearth. She worked diligently on her needlepoint, as if nothing in the world was wrong. She had tried to calm Lady Olyva, but had received a withering glare for her trouble.

  Olyva sighed, letting her impatience breathe a little. Hellen clucked her tongue, but Olyva ignored her. She didn’t want to sit idly by while others risked their lives for her. She felt trapped, but unless she was escorted up to the castle walls, she knew there was nothing she could do. The decorum of court was clear. A lady spent her time on feminine pursuits and never ventured into danger.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered.

  Hellen ignored her, which was just fine with Olyva. She knew her maid not only followed the unwritten rules of court, she worshiped them. Hellen could sit for hours clicking her needles together or mending Olyva’s dresses, with no thought whatsoever of what she might be missing. Olyva couldn’t do that; her mind was filled with possibilities, always spinning and calling her to other pursuits.

  At the moment, she was doing her best not to think about Rafe. He was on the wall, she knew that. He would be in the thick of the fighting—he always was. It was a point of contention between them. He felt as though he must prove his worth and live up to his father’s reputation. Being the son of a master swordsman had its drawbacks, she mused. Her own opinion was quite different. She thought Rafe should be a commander, directing the Earl’s men from a point of safety. She thought he could be the captain of the Earl’s war band if he wanted, but Rafe was always thrusting himself into the most difficult challenges, pushing himself to prove he was worthy of bearing his father’s seal. She wanted to run to him, to make sure he was okay, but she knew she couldn’t do that even under the best of circumstances.

  Her mind switched back to Brutas, her oafish fiancé, and the Earl’s second son. Brutas was an important man now, hence the engagement, brokered by Olyva’s father and Earl Aegus to strengthen relations between Avondale and Hamill Keep. But once Leonosis, the Earl’s firstborn son and the de facto ruler of Avondale even though his father still lived, had an heir, Brutas would be nothing—just another noble-born soldier. A knight had some prestige in court, but as his wife, Olyva would have none. Her only job would be seeing that their household was in order. She wouldn’t even be invited to court unless Brutas escorted her. She fumed at the very thought of it. She was not a child, nor was she a maid to be tasked with common chores, and she certainly didn’t need a man—any man—to escort her anywhere.

  The fact that she hardly knew Brutas was another thorn in her side. How was she supposed to give herself to a man she would have trouble picking out in a crowd? He had certainly shown no interest in her. She had at least expected to be courted while they waited the customary three months to be wed after their engagement was announced, but Brutas was too busy courting his own brother.

  Leonosis was, in Olyva’s opinion, an ass. He cared only about himself and everyone around him deferred to his wishes, treating him as if he were Earl already, even though his father still wore the royal torc and was officially in charge of the city. She thought him a spoiled incompetent. He would ruin Avondale, which was truly a wondrous place. It was a tragedy in Olyva’s mind, not only because it was a great city, but it would be her home, and there was nothing she could do to keep the self-centered Earl’s son from wrecking it once his father was dead.

  A knock at her door interrupted her musings and sent her hurrying to see who was calling on her. Hellen should have answered the door. It was unladylike to answer one’s own door, but Olyva had no patience for the rotund maid, who would take three times as long to do the simple chore as it took Olyva. She flung the door open to find Selma, the Countess’ maid, looking down her long nose at Olyva.

  “What is it?” she asked, ignoring the woman’s rude glare.

  “I was sent to tell you that the danger is past,” she said in haughty tone.

  “What was it?” Olyva asked.

  “How should I know,” the maid said, as she turned to leave.

  “You don’t know why the alarm was sounded?”

  “Because the city was in danger, I suppose.”

  Olyva wanted to run after the tall scarecrow of a woman, but she refrained. The Countess, Lady Wyndolyn, already thought her brash. Olyva knew that the Countess listened to her maid Selma’s opinions about everyone in court, and who could blame her. As the Countess’ maid, she could go freely about the city, while Lady Wyndolyn was kept behind closed doors in the Earl’s chambers of the palace. The fact that Selma found her to be unladylike didn’t bother Olyva in the least, but she knew she would have to deal with the haughty maid for years to come and she didn’t want to make things harder for herself than they had to be.

  “This is ridiculous,” Olyva said angrily, as she slammed the door.

  “We are safe,” Hellen said, not even bothering to look up from her needlepoint. “That is all that matters.”

  “No it isn’t,” Olyva said. “It’s maddening to be cooped up here. What if whatever was attacking the city broke past the Earl’s defenses? Do you really want to be trapped here with no clue that we are about to die?”

  “Ignorance is bliss,” the maid replied.

  Olyva started to argue, but realized it was just a waste of time. Her maid wasn’t even looking up from her needlepoint. Olyva resumed her pacing, thinking once again about Rafe. The danger was over, but did that mean everyone was safe? She tried to force herself not to care, but it was impossible.

  There was another knock on the door, then a slip of parchment was slid underneath. Olyva picked it up and unfolded it. The parchment said five minutes.

  Olyva’s heart began to race. She recognized the handwriting—it was Rafe’s. He was okay after all and coming to see her. She needed to get rid of Hellen. Olyva cleared her throat.

  “I want figs,” she announced.

  “Figs? They’re not even in season yet,” Hellen complained.

  “They aren’t in the castle yet, but I’m sure
they’re selling in the market. You don’t mind going find me some, do you?”

  Hellen sighed as she set her needlepoint down. Olyva knew that her maid would do whatever she asked of her, even if that meant leaving the castle and walking halfway around the city to the market to look for figs. She didn’t want to be mean or mistreat Hellen, but she needed time alone if Rafe were coming to see her.

  “Figs,” Hellen said as she straightened her dress. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, but thank you. Figs would calm my nerves. You’re such a dear.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Hellen said.

  Olyva watched as Hellen left the room. Then she resumed her pacing. A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. She flung it open and pulled Rafe into the room. He was the exact opposite of Brutas. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a head full of thick dark hair which he kept tied back with a leather thong. He was thin and moved with a grace that Olyva both admired and envied. He wore a long narrow sword on his left hip, and a dagger was tucked into his belt on his right side. Olyva flung herself into his arms.

  “Oh, I was so worried about you,” she said.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her.

  “It was maddening to be stuck down here.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Rafe said, although he personally had no power over where Olyva went or what she did. If he was caught holding her the way he was, he would be executed for treason, or worse still, banished from Avondale.

  “What was it?” she asked.