Reyanna's Prophecy: Book 1 of the Forge Born Duology Read online

  Reyanna’s Prophecy

  Book 1 of the

  Forge Born Duology

  By Whit McClendon

  Copyrights

  Reyanna’s Prophecy

  Copyright © 2018 by Whit McClendon

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, Whit McClendon, or the publisher, Rolling Scroll Publishing, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at [email protected].

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7326300-0-0

  ISBN-10: 1-7326300-0-3

  Cover Art by: Shinji

  Copyediting by: Michelle McClish

  Published by: Rolling Scroll Publishing, Katy, TX

  Website: www.jidaan.com

  You can also Like my Facebook page!

  http://www.facebook.com/fireofthejidaan/

  Table of Contents

  Reyanna’s Prophecy

  Copyrights

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Afterword

  About The Author

  Sign up for the Author’s New Releases mailing list and receive a free copy of ‘The Test’, go to http://www.jidaan.com/

  Acknowledgements

  I have an amazing circle of friends and family. They support me in my writing, encourage me when I’m stumbling, and generally keep me moving forward. My wife, Christina, has always been loving and super supportive about my work, and I have to thank her for that. I used to talk to my son, Connor, about the story on our way to his high school, and he helped me work out plot points more than he even suspects. Many of the students at Jade Mountain Martial Arts ask about my writing projects and tell me that they’re dying for the next one to come out; that means a lot. Brian Briscoe and Larry Escher have been instrumental in many ways as my writing career has advanced, and their support has always kept me driving forward. Thanks to Michelle McClish for her tireless proofreading and editing of my books, they are always better after she’s bled on them. And also thanks to Kathryn Scott, who asked me a simple question about a scene I was having trouble with, and helped jog my brain loose to rewrite the scene much better than before.

  For all of you, my loving friends and family, I am profoundly grateful. Thank you.

  ~Whit McClendon

  Dedication

  A dear friend let me know that her daughter absolutely adores my books. Ranks it up there with Harry Potter, if you can believe that. Just knowing that someone out there feels that way about your own work is at once thrilling, encouraging, and humbling. I’m so grateful that folks can enjoy my stories that much, and I’m determined to keep writing as much as possible. This book is dedicated to Mary T. Thanks so much for your support and inspiration, Mary.

  Also, I want to speak to the dreamers out there who have worlds untold in their imagination, just waiting to be shared with the world. To the folks who are dying to tell a tale, but don’t know where to start. To all of you who want desperately to write a book but don’t because you’re scared it won’t work out.

  This one is for all of you.

  After you read mine, go get busy. Write your own story. The world needs more like that.

  Chapter 1

  A huge, beefy fist slammed down onto the table, making the mugs of ale jump.

  “I want more! You never said there would be Skitters to deal with! Creepy little bastards nearly got me and Tyrel both! We want to be paid for it!”

  “Yeah, hazard pay!” Tyrel leaned over his burly friend’s shoulder and backed him up. He was none too bright, but knew an opportunity for extra gold when it was laid in his lap. He had not given any thought to it on the trail; he had just done his job protecting the caravan from the spider-like creatures in the forest and did it well. Between he and the protesting Borel, who had decided that their pay had not been nearly enough, they had easily killed over two dozen of the dog-sized, venomous creatures. But Borel got it in his head that they should both get hazard pay. Borel was nothing if not stubborn, and he had talked of it all the way back. So here they were, bargaining for a few extra coins that they would likely drink away in the very same inn and tavern in which they stood.

  On the other side of the table, a slight, middle-aged man adjusted his spectacles and looked down at his ledgers with the faintest of sighs. The young tough was new to their outfit, but Oswald was well accustomed to outbursts like Borel’s. Oswald had been dealing with mercenaries for a long time, and was quite familiar with their ways. They were not always noble, logical, or intelligent, and seldom were they all three. Oswald ran a hand through his thinning hair, then traced a steady finger down the list of figures in the ledger until he found what he needed.

  In a calm, almost bored tone, Oswald replied without looking up from his books. “Borel, you and Tyrel agreed to 10 gold coins apiece when you took the job. That’s exactly what you’ll receive, and it’s generous for that short a route. The risks were explained, as always.”

  “That’s not enough, I said! Those prickly little beasts could have killed us!” Borel spat.

  “And I’ve had nightmares!” Tyrel interjected, attempting to bolster their case.

  Borel’s huge fist thumped down harder on the table, and Oswald deftly reached out and caught his mug of ale before it tipped over onto his paperwork. He knew he would have to bring his wife in on the situation, and that meant trouble. He had been through this before and he already knew how it would end. He sighed again, silently grateful that he had ordered replacements for all the inn’s tables and chairs and had them stored in a nearby barn for the next time someone acted up. Although such confrontations stressed him mightily, he had to admit that he actually loved to see his wife at work. Even though he hated having to clean the blood out of the floorboards, watching his wife deal with troublemakers secretly thrilled him. Oswald looked up into Borel’s angry, gnarled face and decided it was probably time to go get her.

  With one hand, Oswald slowly and deliberately closed his ledger book. From a chest on the floor next to his chair, he brought out two small pouches and set them on the table before the two men. “Kind sirs, we are happy to pay you the agreed upon amount. If you insist on taking issue with the terms, you’ll have to speak to the boss.”

  Borel looked startled for a moment before regaining his composure. He had only dealt with Oswald up to now, and had not known that there was another in charge.

  “Right then! Send him out so I can deal with him!” He rested one hand on his sword hilt and rattled the blade in its scabbard for emphasis. Beside him, Tyrel di
d the same in imitation.

  Oswald carefully packed his ledger, quill pens, and papers back into the chest at his feet, then picked it up as he moved away from the table, leaving the two pouches of gold for the men to take if they came to their senses. “Yes, yes, gentlemen, I’ll get her. Please wait a moment.”

  Oswald opened a much larger chest against the wall behind him and settled the smaller chest inside it before locking it with a large padlock. Once he had pocketed the key he turned and walked to another door, pushed it open a crack, and leaned his head inside. “Kiran, love, could you come out here for a moment? There’s a dispute regarding payment.”

  Through the dim fog that usually wafted around in Borel’s brain, he finally caught a hold of the fact that the boss was not a ‘he,’ but was instead a ‘she.’ “What, the boss is a wench? Ye gods, that’s rich! Send her out here so I can give her a good spanking before she pays us what we’re worth!”

  Tyrel chimed in helpfully, “Oi, maybe she’ll spend some time with us upstairs and we can call it even!” The ruffians laughed at their own jokes, failing to see Oswald’s face go pale as the door was jerked open from the other side.

  Framed in the doorway was a woman of medium height, drying her hands roughly with a towel. Her pale jade eyes were ablaze with anger, deepening the dainty crow’s feet that had appeared at their edges. She was striking rather than pretty, and a few scars only accentuated her fierce glare. Her brownish hair was lightly streaked with grey, bound in a long braid that draped over one shoulder. She wore a man’s shirt and pants that could not hide the curves that she lamented over these days. Long gone was her youthful, lean and wiry figure. Although she had put on quite a few pounds since her youthful travels had ended, it was widely commented (though not within her earshot) that they looked fetching on her. Certainly, Oswald thought so. He was not thinking of her curves at that moment, but instead, about the strong cords of muscle in her bulging forearms and the throbbing vein at her temple. He knew that she had heard the ruffians’ jokes and had not been amused. At all.

  “Now, love, don’t kill them!” Oswald pleaded as he looked down at his wife. “They don’t know who you are, and they’re just being stupid. And we’ll have to do all that paperwork for the constable again. You know what a bother that is!”

  Kiran tucked the towel into her belt and mumbled in return, “I know, I know. Damned oafs of mercenaries. They’re idiots, the lot of them.” Her jaw clenched in anger, she strode straight over to the two men, who were still laughing. “Hey!” her voice was loud and sharp enough that it startled them to silence. She glared up into Borel’s puggish face. “Your pay is 10 golds apiece. Take it or get out of my inn. I’ve got more important things to do today than to deal with the likes of you.”

  Surprised, Borel took a step backwards and looked down at the angry woman before him. She meant business, but Borel towered over her and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Even so, she did not seem the least bit afraid of him. Unfortunately, he was too dim to realize there might be a reason for that. He decided to press on with his demands.

  “Look, princess,” he saw her nostrils flare and her jaw clench even harder. “We deserve an extra 10 gold for the job we just did. And we’re not leaving until we get it!”

  “Yeah!” Tyrel added from over his shoulder.

  “You just amble over to the chest and pull out some extra coins, or you can bet, there will be some trouble,” Borel went to poke her in the chest with his index finger for emphasis. He recalled later that had been a mistake.

  Moving with almost supernatural speed and grace, Kiran reached out and grasped his outstretched finger with one hand, twisted, and then held it far over her head, instantly standing Borel up on his tiptoes in agony as he desperately tried to keep his finger from breaking. He squeaked in pain, and Tyrel stared at him with wide eyes while he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

  “I said,” Kiran emphasized her words with a slight press that intensified Borel’s pain and he squeaked again. “You two agreed to 10…” another press, another squeak. “Gold pieces…” Squeak. “Each. Now I’m sure that you want to uphold your sterling reputations for integrity, don’t you?” Borel grunted as tears began to trickle down his face, but he nodded. “Good. Then you can take the 10 pieces of gold you earned and leave quietly so that I don’t have to get rough with you. I can just as easily break this finger off and then shove it so far up your arse you can pick your nose from the inside. Gonna be a good boy?” Another nod from Borel. “Ok, then.”

  Kiran released her hold on his finger and he staggered back a few steps next to Tyrel, groaning and clutching his aching hand. She turned and scooped up the two pouches of gold from the table and held them on her upturned palms, offering them to the pair as their beady eyes glared at her. Right now they were scared and uncertain, and she could feel their emotions as easily as though they were her own. They would either take the gold and make a quick escape, or they would let their pride and anger get the best of them, and there would be trouble. She tried not to grin at the thought. It had been a while since she’d dealt with trouble and she had missed it. She more than half-hoped they would make the mistake of attacking her. Oswald would not like that, though. And he worked so hard to keep the peace. She reminded herself to play it cool and not to start anything…but finishing it would be perfectly fine with her. Kiran jiggled the pouches slightly so they could hear the gold clinking inside, a tantalizing sound. She asked quietly, “What’ll it be, boys? I’ll even throw in a nice little escort job for you, 3 golds each for guarding a wagon from here to Green Meadows and back, take you less than a day.”

  Tyrel and Borel glared fiercely at her until she mentioned the job. The road to Green Meadows was known to be safe, and it was a short, easy ride. It was a plum job. Tyrel tugged on Borel’s sleeve, and the two exchanged glances. Kiran actually felt their greed get the better of them as they decided to take the gold and the job. Her spirits fell somewhat, but she knew that it was for the best. She jiggled the coin pouches again with a sigh. The two men relaxed and moved forward to pluck the two pouches from her palms. Glancing over their shoulders, they surreptitiously counted the coins until they were satisfied that they had not been cheated, and then they tucked them away with smug grins.

  “All right, that’s more like it,” Borel stood to his full height, towering over Kiran with a lopsided grin. He kept flexing his sore hand, but tried to ignore the pain. He adopted a pompous tone that Kiran instantly disliked. “We’ll take it. Where do we need to go?”

  Kiran took a deep breath to keep from punching him in the throat. When she had calmed enough, she gave the two louts the details of the job. Oswald had slipped behind the nearby desk and pulled out his ledger again, making notes of the transaction, obviously relieved that there would be no trouble.

  “Gentlemen, if you’ll just come up and make your mark here, you can be on your way.” He turned the ledger book around and offered a quill to Borel, who scribbled the same illegible mark as he had last time, and then Tyrel stepped forward to make his customary ‘X’. “Good, then, it’s all settled!” Oswald replaced everything in the large chest. “I bid you two good day.”

  “It’d have been a better day if she’d gone upstairs with us,” came Borel’s snide reply as he elbowed Tyrel in the ribs. “At least for her, that is! She’s got a nice bosom, but she’s a little old for me. From the looks of her, she’d have had to pay us extra!” A burst of rude laughter from the two men obscured Oswald’s gasp of horror. He immediately stepped through the nearest door and shut it behind him with a slam. It eased open the merest crack as Oswald peeked out.

  “Just don’t kill them! I mean it!” came his muffled voice from the other side of the door.

  Her eyes narrowed in anger, Kiran murmured, “Oh, I won’t. Much.”

  The two men were still laughing when she smashed the table over their heads.

  ******

  Oswald watched the crew as they brought i
n a new table and set up chairs to replace the ones Kiran had destroyed in her fight with Borel and Tyrel. Fortunately, it took less than a half hour to get the room set back to rights this time, and Oswald made a note to buy more chairs and a new table to store away. She had not killed Borel and Tyrel, and there was very little blood. The fact that they could both still walk after regaining consciousness had been a good sign that Kiran had kept her temper better than usual. Oswald sighed as he handed over the small pouch of coins he had set aside for the cleaning crew and looked over at his wife of a dozen years.

  Kiran sat on a stool nearby grumbling quietly to herself, sipping from a mug of ale. Her knuckles were skinned and a lock of her hair had come loose from its braid, causing her to repeatedly blow it out of the way in absent frustration. Anyone else would have thought she was furious after such a ruckus, but Oswald knew better. Her eyes shone not from anger anymore, but exhilaration. She needed a good tussle now and then to get her blood flowing. He knew she was as happy right now as ever. He walked over to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you all right, love?”

  For a change, instead of shrugging off his question, she quietly put her hand on his and looked up into his concerned eyes. She smiled.

  “Yes, Oswald, I’m just fine. I’ve fought far worse than those two buffoons. I barely consider them exercise.” She looked away and sighed as she continued, “I may look old and fat, but I’m still much more than the likes of those two can handle.”

  Oswald reached up and stroked her hair the way he knew she liked, and she closed her eyes as she leaned into the caress. His heart nearly burst with love for her.

  He had never understood what such an amazing, powerful woman had ever seen in him. He was what he had always been, a man who reveled in numbers and tally sheets and invoices. He was certainly no fighter. She was the strong one. He was no braver than a kitchen mouse, and he shied away from conflict wherever he could. When she had come into the inn where he had been working on accounts, though, he had fallen for her in a heartbeat. In retrospect, he was glad he had not known that she was one of the famous Guardians, even though she carried her Jidaan on her back for all to see. The long-bladed spear with its diamond-shaped pommel rode in its scabbard, the cobalt blue sapphire sparkled over her shoulder as she moved. That should have given away her identity, but he had been far too captivated by her harsh beauty to notice.