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  Thinblade

  Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book One

  By

  David A. Wells

  THINBLADE

  Copyright © 2011 by David A. Wells

  All rights reserved.

  Map by Carol L. Wells

  Edited by Carol L. Wells

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, events and organizations in this novel are creations of the author’s imagination.

  www.SovereignOfTheSevenIsles.com

  To Mom and Dad.

  Chapter 1

  Alexander let the arrow fly. It was a clean shot, easily two hundred feet across the pasture. The wolf yelped and squealed in pain before stumbling to the ground and mewling for a few moments until it fell still and silent. The other wolves scattered a bit, looking for the threat.

  “Nice shot,” Darius said as he drew, sighted, and loosed his arrow. It glided silently in a gentle arc and hit another wolf in the haunch. The wolf barked in pain and hobbled into the wood line. Darius frowned.

  Abigail loosed her arrow and missed again. She muttered something under her breath.

  Their father had sent them to hunt a pack of wolves that had been killing calves in the north pasture. They’d been at it for a few days and were finally having some luck.

  “Be still. They haven’t seen us,” Darius said as he nocked another arrow.

  Alexander shot again. He wanted to be done with this and go home. Another wolf fell. His arrow had caught it broadside, pinning it to the ground.

  Darius and Abigail both hit the same wolf.

  “Hey!” Abigail shot her brother a dirty look. She hadn’t gotten anything all morning and now her first kill was compromised by her older brother’s arrow.

  He smiled, nocking another arrow.

  Abigail scowled, then abruptly drew another arrow and took careful aim of an empty wood line. She relaxed the tension on her finely crafted composite bow and rested it in her lap as she sat astride her horse, huffing at the lack of a target.

  “Let’s go get our pelts.” Darius clicked to his horse, urging her forward. Alexander and Abigail followed.

  Alexander relaxed the focus on his vision and looked for the telltale colors of a living aura. When he was about thirteen, he discovered that he possessed magic. Magic wasn’t common, but it wasn’t exactly unheard of either. His parents both had it. When he realized what the colors were, he started training himself to see them whenever he wanted. After eleven years of practice it had become second nature.

  He saw the colors of three wolves just inside the wood line; one aura was fading. That was one of the things the colors told him: dead things didn’t have an aura. The wolf that Darius had shot was dying and its colors were going dark.

  “Two left,” Alexander said as he rested his bow on his saddle horn. He scanned the range for any potential threats.

  That was when he saw the man on the horse. Only, he saw him a second too late. A long black arrow drove straight through Darius’s leather breastplate and into his chest with such force that it didn’t stop until six inches of the shaft were sticking out of his back. Darius grunted, slumping forward in his saddle.

  Alexander loosed a quick shot at the man, then dropped his bow into its sheath.

  Abigail cried out, “Darius!”

  Both moved up alongside their wounded brother.

  Alexander grabbed him by the back to steady him in his saddle, carefully sitting him up straight so he could get at the arrow. He grabbed the shaft close to the breastplate and snapped off the feathered end.

  Darius cried out in pain.

  Abigail sobbed her brother’s name through freely flowing tears.

  Alexander fixed Abigail with a hard look. “Grab his reins.”

  He took hold of the arrow, pulled it through and slipped it into his quiver.

  Darius let out a strangled wail of pain and slumped forward, unconscious.

  Alexander swung his leg over the side of his horse and expertly switched horses, sliding behind his brother. He pulled Darius up and held him against his chest with one hand while taking the reins from Abigail with the other. He turned for the northern ranch house and kicked the horse into a fast but steady walk.

  Abigail took the reins of Alexander’s horse and turned to look for the man who’d attacked her brother, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  They made it to the ranch house within an hour. About thirty-five people lived there, including house staff and the hired hands that worked the northern property. More importantly, they had a healer, a wagon, and fresh horses.

  As they came into the yard, Alexander called out, “I need the healer!”

  The head cook turned and rushed off to find the resident healer.

  Alexander turned to a group of three ranch hands and barked his orders, “I need a fresh horse saddled and ready to ride right now.”

  They looked at him in surprise, but didn’t react.

  “Now!” Alexander bellowed, causing them to spring toward the stables.

  Abigail quickly dismounted to help Darius down off the horse. The healer came rushing up at the same time and helped her slip him gently to the ground.

  As the house staff descended and the healer went to work, Alexander pulled Abigail aside. “Ride to the manor house and tell Lucky what happened. I’ll be right behind you with Darius.”

  The stableman ran up, leading the fresh horse Alexander had demanded.

  “Just in time,” Alexander said as he took the reins and handed them to his sister. “Ride fast.” He helped her into the saddle and slapped the horse on the rump. Abigail goaded the horse on as he sprang into a gallop.

  Alexander knew it was bad.

  Darius was dying.

  “Stableman, prepare your fastest wagon with your best team of horses to carry my brother to Valentine Manor,” Alexander commanded. He didn’t like ordering people around, but today was different.

  The stableman nodded, “Right away, sir.” He turned and ran toward the stables, shouting orders along the way.

  Alexander returned to Darius to get a report from the house healer. He could see from the look in the man’s eyes that his fears were justified. The healer had no magic and could do little more than stop the bleeding, put healing salve on the wounds, and bandage him up.

  The stableman pulled up a few moments later with a two-horse carriage that looked fast enough. Alexander and the healer supervised the loading of his brother. They placed him on a pallet covered with straw mats and layered wool blankets, gently lifted the whole pallet into the back of the wagon, and covered him with more blankets to keep him warm. The healer climbed aboard to attend to Darius during the trip while Alexander took his place at the reins.

  Four of Valentine Manor’s security men trotted up on horseback and took positions around the wagon to provide protection along the way. The ride seemed tortuously long to Alexander. He checked frequently with the healer but the answer was always the same: No change.

  When Alexander turned the wagon off the main ferry road and up toward Valentine Manor, he saw Anatoly and twenty of his men riding toward him fast.

  “Is he alive?” Anatoly called out as soon as he was close enough to shout.

  Alexander gave a curt nod and could see the relief on Anatoly’s face. Anatoly motioned for his men to continue ahead as he stopped to talk with Alexander.

  “What happened?” His voice was level but his face had a look of pent-up thunder. He’d all but raised the three of them. Anatoly Grace had been the family man-at-arms for over twenty years. He was their mentor and their father’s best friend. But more than that, he was the family protector, and one of his charges had just been badly hurt.

  Alexander quickly told him what he knew: “A man on a horse caught us by surprise from the w
ood line and hit Darius. I sent an arrow at him and then took Darius to the north ranch house.”

  Anatoly nodded, “Good man.” He kicked his horse into a gallop and over his shoulder called out, “I’ll find him.”

  Alexander smiled grimly. The man on the horse wouldn’t get away, Alexander was sure of that much.

  He continued up the road and moments later saw a second party on horseback moving at full gallop toward him. It was his parents and Lucky with his assistant in tow and Abigail, racing ahead with her silvery blond hair glowing in the sunlight.

  They came up in a rush as Alexander stopped the wagon.

  Duncan Valentine was off his horse before it could stop. He hit the ground running, took one step on the side of the carriage, vaulted onto the buckboard, climbed over, and knelt down next to his son.

  Lucky stayed mounted so he could see into the carriage for his initial assessment. He didn’t like what he saw.

  Bella Valentine looked into the back of the carriage and gave a low tortured moan when she saw her eldest child. Her face went white.

  As his family arrived and swarmed the carriage, Alexander could feel the burden of responsibility slip away. He stepped off to the side of the road and sat down. The shakes soon followed.

  “Are you all right?” Abigail asked softly as she sat down next to him. He nodded to her and smiled tightly even though he couldn’t stop shaking. She sat quietly for several minutes, simply offering him the comfort of her presence.

  “Lucky says his chances are good.” She sounded a bit too worried to be reassuring. “Come on.” Abigail stood up and offered Alexander her hand. “Let’s go home.”

  The wagon started moving again with Lucky and the healer in back and Duncan and Bella in front, driving the wagon toward Valentine Manor.

  Chapter 2

  Darius was unconscious and could breathe only when he was rolled onto his side. Lucky had done everything he could do. He’d worked through the afternoon trying to save the young man who was heir to Valentine Manor.

  Lucky, Aluicious Alabrand, was a Master Alchemist. He stood just under six feet tall, wore a crown of silver-white hair around a bald head and carried his ample belly as if it were a testament to his skills in the kitchen. Lucky was an able healer, but he feared that Darius was beyond his ability. The young man had developed a fever that wouldn’t respond to any of Lucky’s potions, and Lucky couldn’t figure out why. Darius should be healing, but he was getting worse. Lucky looked at the door to the waiting room.

  He dreaded going out to face his patrons, the Lord and Lady Valentine. It was all the worse that he was an old and dear friend of the family and had been Darius’s principal teacher for his entire education. He loved the boy and could hardly swallow the lump in his throat as he rose from his dying patient’s side.

  When Lucky came out of the house infirmary, Bella sobbed at the look of anguish on his face. Duncan, Lord of the House, stood straight-backed at his wife’s side, his face ashen and set.

  Lucky took a deep breath and composed himself before speaking, “I’ve done all I know how to do and he’s still getting worse.”

  Alexander suddenly had a thought. He shot to his feet and abruptly left the room.

  “Alexander,” called his mother through her crying.

  “Let him go,” his father said quietly.

  Alexander ran to the stables and found his saddle. He still had the arrow that had impaled his brother. He ran back to the infirmary, burst through the door, and walked straight up to Lucky, arrow in hand.

  “What if it was poisoned?” Alexander held up the arrowhead to Lucky, who looked Alexander in the eye for a moment, nodded once, then snatched the arrow and headed for his workshop in haste.

  Alexander felt suddenly deflated once again. For a moment he could take action to help his brother, but now he could only wait. He went to his brother’s side and took his hand. “Hold on, Darius. Lucky will figure this out and make it right.”

  From somewhere behind him, Abigail whispered, “He has to.”

  Late in the evening, it became clear that Darius was dying. In his last hours, the small room filled to overflowing with family and friends. He was loved by everyone who knew him. Even the toughest ranch hands cried without shame.

  Lucky determined from the arrowhead that it had indeed been coated with baked-on poison. The effect had been slowed because the arrowhead hadn’t lodged inside Darius but instead went straight through him. Unfortunately, even a small dose of the poison was deadly and there was no antidote.

  Darius was dying.

  Amidst the mourning, Anatoly strode in, caked in road grime. “Found him,” he growled with angry satisfaction. He stopped short when he took in the scene of the people in the room.

  “Is he gone?” the big man-at-arms asked softly.

  Duncan shook his head and motioned toward his dying son. Anatoly went to Darius’s side to say his goodbyes. As Anatoly took his hand, Darius gasped his last breath and died. Bella and Abigail wailed in anguish almost in chorus. Duncan sat heavily and stared blankly while tears streamed down his face.

  Abigail buried her face in Alexander’s shirt and wept. He held his sister and felt a kind of anguish wash over him that seemed boundless and all-encompassing. Before this moment he didn’t even know this kind of pain existed.

  His big brother was dead. His best friend. His protector. His hero. Gone.

  The whole of the world would never be the same again. The finality of it was terrible. The sudden void was utterly without mercy.

  Alexander succumbed to the pain of it. He gave himself over to it. Let it fill him. He held nothing back, allowing the hurt to find its way into every crevasse of his psyche. He stood there for a long time, holding his sister and feeling immeasurable sorrow while tears streamed down his face.

  Her presence brought him back from the hopelessness. She was still alive. His family still needed him, now more than ever. He had to put his emotions in perspective, mourn his brother’s death, and live his life.

  Then it hit him and his eyes snapped open. The pain of his sorrow shifted into cold anger. “Anatoly … who did you find?”

  Anatoly stood, anger on his face in spite of the tear streaks running through crusted dirt from his eyes to his chin.

  “We found the man who shot Darius. He’s shackled and locked in the holding cell. Four of my best men are guarding him.” Anatoly grinned tightly with absolutely no humor. “You got his horse, by the way. Nice shot.”

  Everyone stood and faced Anatoly.

  Duncan asked, “What has he said?”

  “Quite a bit, actually. After some persuading, mind you.” Anatoly gestured for everyone to step out of the room where the lifeless body of Darius lay.

  “He’s a member of the Reishi Protectorate. About a month ago he was sent to locate and kill Darius. He doesn’t know why, only that he has orders from the General Commander of the Protectorate. He made his way from Tyr, found Darius, and shot him with a poisoned arrow.” Anatoly gave his report in the detached manner of a soldier but it was clear to everyone in the room that he was hurting as much as anyone.

  “Why would someone from the Reishi Protectorate want to kill my brother?” Abigail asked. “The Reishi are dead. They’ve been dead for two thousand years.”

  Anatoly looked down, shaking his head. “The prisoner doesn’t know why,” he said softly. “He claims he was just following orders.”

  “If he was following orders, then a better question is why was he ordered kill Darius?” Duncan said. “Anatoly, did he speak my son’s name?”

  “Yes. His orders were to kill Darius Valentine.”

  Bella touched her husband’s arm, “It can’t be … can it?”

  Duncan took his wife’s hand and squeezed reassuringly as he shook his head, as much for his own comfort as hers. “The Reishi Protectorate is more rumor and legend than anything these days.” Duncan frowned in thought. “Lucky, what do you know of the history of the Reishi Protectorate?�
�� He doubted the old alchemist knew any more than he did, but Duncan Valentine was thorough and knew events often turned on the smallest details.

  Lucky leaned forward. “Little that will shed light on the motives behind your son’s murder, I fear.” Lucky closed his eyes and dredged his memory. “The Reishi Protectorate served as the royal guard for the Reishi family during the two thousand years that the Reishi Sovereigns ruled the Seven Isles. For much of those many years the people lived in peace until the last Reishi Sovereign took up necromancy. He quickly descended into madness and tyranny. It was a very dark time. The First Reishi Sovereign discovered the secret of making Wizard’s Dust, so they had many true wizards and more than a few mages and arch mages. Their power was unrivaled for millennia.

  “Their cruelty was their downfall. One of their own house stole the secret of Wizard’s Dust, their most jealously guarded secret, and distributed seven copies of the process, one to each of the Seven Isles. The Sixth Reishi Sovereign responded by declaring open war on any non-Reishi magic. That was the beginning of the Reishi War. It raged across the Seven Isles for nearly two centuries. After untold destruction, the war ended with the death of the Sixth Reishi Sovereign and the loss of the secret of Wizard’s Dust.

  “To this day, the Reishi Protectorate believes that the Reishi line will rise again to claim its rightful place as rulers of the Seven Isles. Over the centuries they have become more of a secret society or a cult than anything else.” Lucky sighed, “Most people don’t even believe they still exist.”

  Alexander stood abruptly. “I want to talk to the prisoner,” he said and started for the door.

  Anatoly looked to Duncan, who nodded slightly. The big man-at-arms fell in behind the new heir to the House of Valentine.

  Alexander looked at his brother’s killer through the cell bars. The man was helpless and yet Alexander wanted to hurt him just the same. He wondered what that revealed about his own character.