Queen of Stars and Shadows (Pathway of the Chosen) Read online

  Queen of Stars and Shadows

  Cat Bruno

  First Trade Printing, October 2016

  QUEEN OF STARS AND SHADOWS

  ISBN-13: 978-1537722979

  ISBN-10: 1537722972

  Copyright 2016 By Cat Bruno

  Book Art by Simon Valev (front cover) and Ana Cruz (back cover)

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, no parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without the written consent of the author.

  Painted Quill Press

  Contact: [email protected]

  www.catbruno.com

  Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the USA

  PATHWAY OF THE CHOSEN

  The Girl from the North

  Daughter of the Wolf

  Queen of Stars and Shadows

  *Note from the Author: The first two books in the Pathway of the Chosen series serve as prequels to Queen of Stars and Shadows, although this book was designed and written to be read on its own as well. As with most epic fantasy, more books will follow as Syrsha and Jarek battle for Cordisia. Join my mailing list for updates and special offers: http://www.catbruno.com

  The Girl from the North:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PHDRA3K

  Daughter of the Wolf:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B019WJUH20

  Glossary

  Faela: Wolf pup

  Akkachi: Covian teacher

  Epidiuus: Spirit animal, Pegasus

  Diauxie: Covian dark mage; consumer of shadows

  Fennidi: Ancient forest sprites

  Kyzkua: Sythian challenge in which a victor gains kin-rights

  Atraglacia: Ancient rock-metal forged of fire and ice

  Wu-ku: Tiannese magic based on harmony and balance

  Rexaria: Kingmaker

  Nokoma: Covian grandmother

  Orla: Chosen consort of a Tribesman

  Nushen: Tiannese Goddess

  Laohu: Striped great cat of Tian

  Sensei: Tiannese instructor

  Shihon: Master of Tiannese fighting

  Anjin: Specialized rooms used for training and fighting in Tian

  Chikung: Simple, introductory movement taught in Tiannese fighting

  Hu-Gao: Conqueror of the great cat

  Fenghuang: Firebird; phoenix

  Yaoguai: Tiannese demon

  “Fear the wolf in front, and the tiger behind.”

  – Chinese Proverb

  Table of Contents:

  Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  1

  Not for the first time, he found her dozing with a sword in her lap. Reaching for his own curved blade, Otieno neared, surprisingly silent as his thick boots crushed the half-browned grass that separated student from master. Across her face, waves of black tresses hung, tinted red by the midday sun, serving as mask and helm and obscuring her gaze.

  Her chest rose softly as he watched, and her sky-colored tunic flitted near her pale neck. Beside her lay the faded leather armor she had worn for the last moon year. Speckled with blood and streaked with dirt, it appeared well-used, as he knew it to be. Yet, piled in a heap just outside of her reach, the armor was now useless.

  And her neck unguarded.

  He did not pause as he pulled his sword from its sheathe, without sound, gently, as if it was no more than a feather.

  The girl leaned against a long-branched tree, its ferny leaves offering a shaded veil against the cloudless sky. Dank air wetted his skin and his long braids stuck to his damp face, but Otieno’s fingers did not move from the hilt of the sword.

  Steps from the girl now, he smiled. With a lunge forward, he thrust the tip of the scimitar toward her ivory neck.

  He missed, for she smoothly rolled, already on her feet behind him, as graceful and fast as the desert cats they had seen the moon year before on a rare trip outside the city.

  Laughing, the sound young and high, she called to him, “You smell of roses and sage. As you often do after an evening spent in the bathhouse. Even in slumber, I knew that you had come.”

  With a shrug, he pointed toward her armor and asked, “What good is it unworn?”

  “It slows me down,” she explained. “I only wear it because you insist that I must.”

  Her own sword, larger than his in length and width, was cupped between slender fingers, its sharp point resting on the grass. Long before, she had learned to keep it near. When she had not, the punishment was severe. He had been a difficult teacher, and, for the last fifteen moon years, had trained her without much respite. There were others to offer the girl instruction on mage-craft and the healing arts  Sharron, Gregorr, and Aldric. But, it was he alone who would keep her alive.

  “Faela, you will one day face an enemy who is even quicker than you. Just as there will be many who are stronger. Do I need to explain again how the well-balanced fighter is the enduring one?”

  She did not reach for the armor as she answered, “I mastered the spear moon years ago, Akkachi. And the scimitar as well. Even you must admit to being impressed with my skills with the Greatsword. Few can wield it as I do.”

  The girl was more than student to him, and had been since her birth, moon years before, across the seas in Cordisia. He had watched her mother die, along with the others, although he had been too far to offer aid. From the back of an epidiuus, he had witnessed the Crow slice open Caryss’s throat. His screams that followed had caused his voice to fall silent for nearly a quarter-moon after, and it was not until they had reached Cossima that he once again spoke.

  Shaking his head to free himself from the memory, he asked her, “What is it that you are seeking? I know you well enough to understand this game, faela.”

  Her mother had named the babe Syrsha, an Eirrannian name, yet none here called her so. They had long sought to keep her hidden, and most knew her in Cossima as Kali, a name out of the East, aptly given because of the child’s midnight-hued hair. But even then, Aldric, Gregorr, and he rarely called her anything but faela, for they all recognized her to be a child of the wolf.

  It was only Sharron who spoke to her of Cordisia and in the language of the North. Just as it was only the Northern healer who whispered the girl’s true name as she told tales of Caryss. Sharron had known the girl’s mother the longest, yet even she could not tell Syrsha much of the woman’s story. Aldric, the mage, perhaps knew the most of the girl, for he understood more than any of them about the Tribe and Conri, the High Lord of the Wolves and the girl's father.

  Fifteen years removed from Caryss’s murder, the story was still a painful one and difficult to discuss. Even less did they speak of the High Lord or Syrsha's god-tainted blood.

  Any news from Cordisia came from what Aldric could learn on his morning trips to the
market, and most of it of late was dire.

  And the girl knew as much.

  Before she could answer, he stepped close and chastised, “I know how weary you grow of Cossima, but it is not yet time to return to Cordisia. With Crispin’s death, Delwin became king, and, with that, war will come.”

  He did not need to explain how much had changed with Crispin’s death. Since their exit from Cordisia, he had ruled as king, following the murder of his father who had been slaughtered without mercy by the High Lord. A tenuous peace had followed, despite Delwin’s insistence that the Tribe be destroyed. Word had come that while Crispin sat the throne, Delwin built his army even stronger, offering rank to mage-trained soldiers. He also expanded the Lightkeepers, tripling their numbers and opening the royal coffers for their use. With mage and Lightkeeper at his side, Delwin grew anxious, Aldric believed.

  Within a moon year, war between Rexterra and Tribe would come, he reminded her again.

  “It is not to Cordisia that I want to go," she countered. "There is little more for me here, Akkachi, even you must recognize that. I have thought long on this and know where it is that we must visit.”

  Pulling his clay-tipped hair from his mahogany face, he scowled at her. “You have convinced the others that it is time to depart.”

  He watched as she forced her own pale face to reveal nothing.

  “The others agree that we must soon leave. Even Aldric, who warned me that Delwin has renewed his interest in finding me. The reward for my capture would give a man a small kingdom, Otieno. We have stayed too long here, and many suspect that I am not Kali.”

  Syrsha’s eyes, unforgettable and gem-like, stared at him, and he knew the game that she now played. Even aging and without practice, Aldric had taught her well. There would be few who could fool the girl, even those mage-trained.

  “You waste my time, girl. Be out with it,” he finally insisted.

  She was little more than a child, yet of late she thought herself more. In their safety, she would become reckless, he suddenly realized. Even now, the girl found herself to be undefeatable. When she looked away, swinging the heavy sword until it lay across her back, where she sheathed it, Otieno’s cheeks burned. In his anger, he nearly reached for his Greatsword, yet soon she was speaking and his clenched fists hung at his side.

  “I have heard tales of the Sythians and of their skills with the bow. I have learned much here, but the courtyard offers little room for archery. Aldric has told me much about them, and they are but a quick sea voyage and a half-moon ride north from here.”

  A long hiss escaped his full lips. “The bow is the coward’s weapon.”

  “You are wrong, Akkachi. It is the woman’s weapon. The Sythians need no men to lead their armies, for their aim is rarely off and their horses swift and strong.”

  “All women need men, child.”

  Her laugh echoed off sun-baked bricks and faded grass as her teeth, straight and shining, gleamed bright. Otieno could not stay his hand as the bells of her laughter rang around him. Without armor, Syrsha was no match for the Greatsword, so he grabbed the short broadsword from near his hip and raised it. Just as quickly, the girl had daggers in each hand.

  The courtyard quieted, but her emerald eyes dazzled with amusement. She would let him strike first, he knew, stepping toward her slowly as he eyed the leather-hilted daggers crossed in front of her. As the broadsword came toward her, Syrsha would attack, dodging his charge with a roll until her daggers were near enough to press into his skin.

  Instead of circling the sword above her for a downward slash, the diauxie ducked low, throwing his shoulder to the ground and spinning, until his hands were near enough to her legs to pull her down. In her surprise, she offered no counter.

  Before she could recover, he pinned her hands above her head, the daggers sharp but unthreatening. The girl was forceful, more so than most men. She was god-kin and no easy fight. Yet he was no ordinary man, either. With the broadsword in his strong hand, he brought the hilt toward her, striking her hard across the cheek.

  Syrsha cried out and struggled to free herself. The right side of her face was red and puffy, but Otieno cared little.

  Rising on his own, he told her, “You have grown lazy and predictable in your insolence. Have Sharron tend to your cheek.”

  She began to argue, but he again lifted the sword, as if he would strike her anew where she still lay.

  “We will make way to Sythia within the moon. Tell the others.”

  As he walked away from her, Otieno could hear her shouting at him.

  “You are not my father, Akkachi!” she screamed, her voice thick.

  He did not turn around, nor did he call out to her.

  I am not your father, he thought. The High Lord would have left you bloody and silent.

  *****

  2

  A light rain and cool wind, unusual for the Cossiman summer, greeted Aldric as he hurried home from the market for what would be the last time. In the moon years that they had resided in Cossima, he had taken to wearing the local garb, a long, dark tunic made of linen atop trousers of the same color and fabric. It would be ill-suited for riding so he rushed along, knowing that he must change into the fine leather that Sharron had made for him.

  Cossima had come to feel like home, to most of them, he suspected, yet he did not disagree that it had become time to depart. Syrsha had often tried to convince him that Cordisia should be their destination, but he had not let her dissuade him, even when she begged. It would not matter what he agreed to, he figured, for Otieno and Gregorr would never allow it anyway. Especially the diauxie, who still saw Syrsha as the babe she once was.

  Long ago she had surpassed his own mage-skills, and there was little left for him to teach her. Of late, they studied blood-craft, much to Otieno’s dislike. The Islander’s mage-talent was kept carefully hidden, although around him buzzed warded air. His swordplay was enough to keep him safe, Otieno vowed, yet both Aldric and Syrsha sensed his mage-skill nonetheless.

  There was much to be admired about Cossima as there was no city like it, Aldric long ago concluded. The buildings were well-crafted and impressive, the market as large and diverse as the people that called it home. Several healing centers edged the city center, as well as academies for learning. Old gods and new were worshipped, peacefully in most cases, and tall, stony walls lined the city for miles, offering protection.

  Sythia, in comparison, was little more than tented villages and armor-clad warriors, simple food and watered wine or sweetened ale. He knew much of the land, although Sythians were rare even in a city like Cossima. Aldric realized that they had too long sheltered the girl, despite their having departed from Cossima. Half the time she could best Otieno, but there were few others that she had faced. Aside from a handful of trips beyond the stone boundaries, she had traveled little and knew less of the world outside Cossima. Her only knowledge of Cordisia came from the stories that he and Sharron told, and, even then, Syrsha desired more.

  It was time, he knew, slowing his pace as he neared the house. Gregorr, wearing a gray, hooded cape, tied a large satchel to his back when Aldric entered. Sharron, dressed in a light-colored riding suit, nodded at him as she too readied to depart. Otieno was seated on a low bench, waiting on the others, sharpening a small knife. As Aldric looked around, Syrsha ran into the room, her laced-up boots striking loud against the rust-colored tiles.

  “We have all been waiting on you,” she called to him as she hurried by, her hair falling from its hasty braid.

  Aldric ducked into a side room and found the clothing he had set aside. Without delay, he dressed, before joining the others.

  “Once we sail across the strait, our supplies will be waiting. I have taken care of nearly everything, I believe.”

  It was the fennidi who asked, “What of the bank notes and coin? Has it been secured?”

  In addition to the home they all shared, Willem’s money had allowed them to purchase several other buildings, which
had been leased out over the moon years to provide them with income. Since the decision had been made to leave, Aldric had had to sell off all of the properties, although none of them faulted him for maintaining ownership of the house. From the sales, they had profited well, with enough coin to last moon years. It was his responsibility to see it safe.

  Pulling on his boots, Aldric told them, “It seemed unwise to carry most of it with us, so the largest portion has been sent to a bank a day’s ride from Sythia. I have also distributed coin with a few other lenders, in case of a rapid exit. Our supplies have been paid for, as well as housing near the Sythian city Odeena. Our investments in Cossima were sound ones, and we will not want for much.”

  The others rarely asked about finances, although the healers would often receive coin for their work, and Aldric, a few moon years after arriving, began teaching a few courses at a nearby academy. Otieno could have earned gold coin in abundance if he would take on new students, but his time was devoted to Syrsha. When she was studying healing arts with Sharron and Gregorr or taking classes at the academy with Aldric, the diauxie kept to himself. For Gregorr, life in Cossima was difficult; none there had ever seen his kind. It was for him that Sharron had opened a small healing clinic in an adjacent building to the home. Several hours a day the two could be found administering aid.

  Yet they all knew that this day would come.

  Interrupting his thoughts, Otieno called out, “We will have to walk swiftly to make the ferry.”

  As if in agreement, the central square bells chimed. With a nod, Aldric moved toward the door, hearing footfalls behind him. Without a final look back, they hurried toward the northern piers for the short trip across the Tarseus Sea. Once on land in Elaia, they would head north for Sythia.