Korth, a slave raised ignorance, wants to be his own man—not an easily attained goal when an evil sorceress, a beautiful goddess, and a mysterious juggler are each determined to manipulate him to fit their own plans.
Born into slavery, Korth knows no other life until he receives special training and is sent to perform the rite of Lord's-Kill, a mercy killing of the aged and ill Lord of the Manor. He is unaware that on performing this rite he will receive the Lord's dying breath and with it the lord's spirit and his wisdom. Dama Koralie, serving as regent and loath to surrender her power, arranges to have Korth assassinated during the night following the rite. Instead, Korth uses his well-honed skill to kill the assassin. He flees, seeking freedom from punishment and slavery, but he discovers that freedom does not come easily. Three females—a goddess, a sorceress, and a spirit called a fala—manipulate him, each trying to mold him to fit her own purpose. Korth battles for the freedom to determine his own destiny, but is such freedom even possible?
Excerpt
I looked up when a man I’d never seen before came into the field. He wore the silver and black uniform of a Manor House servant. He spoke to our overseer, and the overseer pointed my way. The messenger walked to me.
“You are Korth? You are ordered to come to the Manor House. Now!”
I couldn’t move. Why would a field slave be called to the Manor House? They must be going to punish me. But what could I have done wrong? I obeyed every order I was given.
He got the look that my overseer gets before he uses his whip. I cringed when he leaned closer. But he only looked around and then whispered, “It’s time.”
Time? Time for what?
His brows pulled together. “For Lord’s-Kill,” he whispered. “You have to hurry.”
Lord’s-Kill! I’d been brought from cutting stone in the quarry and put to work in the Manor House fields just so I could be trained to do that special thing.
One day a week I was called away from the other field and garden slaves to a place where nobody could watch us, and from midafternoon to time for us slaves to return to the longhouse a man taught me the way of Lord’s-Kill.
I don’t know why they chose me. They didn’t explain, and I didn’t dare ask. My trainer said I’d get something special if I did the job well.
I followed the messenger. We stopped by a well, where he ordered me to wash my hands and face. I washed, and we went on to the Manor House. I was turned over to a big woman with a mean face. She grabbed my arm and took me to a washroom and scrubbed my hands and face all over again. I guess I hadn’t gotten them clean enough at the well.
“You still aren’t fit to enter the dama’s presence,” she said. “Or Lord Brid’s. But you’ll have to do. I’m told his time is short.”
After making me wrap cloth around my boots so as not to track mud through the house, she took me through a large kitchen. Servants were fixing food, and the smells made my mouth water. But the woman didn’t stop. She took me into a room where the man waited—the one who’d trained me.
He was tall and very strong. I never knew his name. I never asked it or why he taught me how to do something he could have done himself.
“Korth,” he said when I reached him, “this is the hour for which I’ve prepared you. Lord Brid lies near death. He is waiting for you. You must be quick and merciful. I have taught you how. Don’t fail. I’ll take you to Dama Koralie now.”
I nodded.
He frowned and gave me a stern look. “This is a great honor, Korth. You should be proud, not frightened.”
“Yes.” It was all I could say. I kept my head down. I always remember to do that.
I followed him into a sitting room finer than anything I’d ever seen. Fancy chairs and tables and more furniture I didn’t know names for. I stood in the center of the room.
Dama Koralie came in. Immediately I bowed my head. I didn’t dare look at her face. I was afraid of Dama Koralie.Everybody said she knew witchcraft and had truck with Flux fiends and they taught her how to move back and forth in time. I didn’t understand any of that. I did know the dama was more powerful than anyone but the manor lord. And the old lord had been sick for a long time, so the dama was now in charge of everything. She spoke for Molor. No wonder I was scared of her. Everybody was.
She didn’t speak to me. She asked my trainer, “Is he ready? He knows what he must do?”
“He is well trained, Dama,” my trainer answered. “But he is a slave, and unlearned in all else. I—”
“So long as he does as he’s been taught, nothing more is required. Time ebbs. Decio, take him to Lord Brid’s bedchamber.”
An old manservant took me by my arm. “This way,” he said and led me from the room and up a wide stairway to a great chamber. And left me there.
In a bed far wider than the one our slave overseer slept in I saw one very old man. I’d never slept in a bed or even seen one besides Overseer Vicca’s, and though this one had been described to me, until now I couldn’t imagine it. The overseer slept in the slave quarters on a bed by the fireplace, while all we slaves slept in hammocks hung from the rafters. I didn’t know beds came as big as the one the old lord was lying in.
With such a wide bed, how could I get close enough to do what I was supposed to do? I’d been told I could kneel on the bed, but that didn’t seem right.
The old man’s eyes opened as I drew near. They were blue like a sky covered with thin white clouds. Could he see?
His mouth opened, his lips moved, but no sound came out. One hand lifted from the cover and waved toward a table. A glass of water was there. I got it and leaned over the wide bed and held it to his lips. He took a few sips, but most of it dribbled down his chin.
I guess it helped a little. “Korth,” he said. How did he know my name?
“Do … it … quickly.” His voice sounded like the noise corn stalks make when they scrape together in the wind.
I put the glass of water back on the table and leaned over him. His eyes closed and his lips curved upward in a small smile. “Time,” he murmured.
I had to put one knee on the bed and lean way over until my upper body was touching the covers and my face was right above his. I did exactly as I’d been taught. I wrapped my hands carefully around his throat. Breathing through my mouth, I put my hands around his neck … just … so. I felt the ridges of his windpipe under my fingers. That told me where to press. Quick and hard.
He gave a single shudder and took one last breath.
I breathed in deeply as that final breath escaped him. And I got an odd feeling, as if his dying breath went through my open mouth and part of him came with it.
The first instalment of The Tales of Bowen unfolds a mesmerizing anthology of narratives intricately woven together by a grand overarching storyline, set against the enchanting backdrop of the mystical realms of Dagonfell.
The hoar witch and her forest full of malformed creatures await Vanx and his curious group of companions as they try to save the fairy folk and their magical Heart Tree from the powerful old crone and her evil.
