Awakening (The Guardari Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Awakening

  The Guardari Chronicles

  Copyright © 2018 Raven Bouray

  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 publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 9781792073939

  To my husband, Mike, and son, Rory, who have inspired me to live my dreams and given me all the love in the world with which to draw from in my writing. Mike has listened to me countless hours pour over plot points and talk through my writers block, despite not being an avid reader or really knowing what I’ve been talking about. He loves me enough to know that reading and writing are my dreams and he has done everything he can do help me achieve them.

  To my friend, Ashley, who stole my artistic talent and relegated me to the written word rather than drawing. Without her, I would still probably be that scared, shy girl that I was before I met her. She is an awesome person, and I am so glad to know her.

  To my friend, Bri, who inspired me when I was a lowly fanfiction author on my first real multi-chaptered work on Merlin. She gave me such strong and long feedback that it fed my muse and made me a better writer. I couldn’t have written this book without her encouragement and the reviews and encouragement of the countless other reviewers for my fanfictions out there. I owe you guys a lot.

  To my Dad, who has given me the gene of storytelling with his DM experience and love for fantasy that he has passed down to both myself and my brother, which I’ve poured into this book and hopefully more.

  To Russ, who has been a friend of my dad’s forever and only added to my love of fantasy and thirst for knowledge and Sherri who helped me come out of my shell and taught me the importance of buying a bra that fits.

  And finally, to the rest of my family, for which none of this would technically be possible because I wouldn’t be born.

  Follow my book series on Facebook. I would love to hear from each and everyone of you with questions or comments and for updates on book 2.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 1

  With a firm parry from her instructor, Emmaline D’Terin’s backside met the ground for the third time in nearly half an hour. This caused her weapon of choice, a staff, to clatter against the ground and bounce out of her grip to land a few paces away. It rolled from one side to another before stilling in the dirt. She made a move to grab at it and was stopped by the point of a wooden training sword coming to rest in front of her nose.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Em. That was sloppy, and you were distracted. And I can bet that rear end of yours will be screaming at you in the morn,” Captain Uracen taunted her in a stern manner, and her eyes moved to look at him along his sword point. His brown eyes, much like the color of mud, reflected a slight disappointment in her, which felt worse than her fall did. It had taken her nearly a year at the age of eleven before her father had even given permission for her to train like the men and it had taken two more years after that for the Captain to actually begin to respect her. She was almost seventeen now, and despite her years of training, her single year off had done more damage to her skills than she first thought.

  “You talk to me about being sloppy when you get dragged out to the practice yard after a year of sitting on your arse doing nothing and then we can talk about being ashamed. In recent memory, the only thing I have done that would even resemble combat is swatting truffle hogs away from my feet until today.” She met his gaze with her own, which was simmering with an anger borne from embarrassment.

  “Up. Grab that stick, and we’ll go again. You have one more chance to at least get a hit or you’ll do laps like the boys.” The sword point dropped from its position, and she darted for her staff. Uracen had told her many times before that her speed was her one advantage in close quarters like this. But it had been some time since she utilized her natural talents for battle maneuvers.

  Sharp pain shot from her backside down the back of her thigh as she stood to take position in front of her teacher. A small audience had gathered around them, as it usually did when she trained. The now-softened palms of her hands rubbed uncomfortably against the polished wood of her staff, and she knew they would need tending after she finished here. Lavender eyes lifted to meet brown ones, and each of them gave a nod of readiness.

  “Begin,” a voice from her right uttered quietly.

  Neither of them moved, waiting for a clue as to what the other would do, what they would start with, and how it would be countered. Uracen had once told her that he once saw two warriors from the Eastern Isle stand in place for two hours after the fight had begun, and after the two hours was up, the loser merely dropped his sword and surrendered as if the entire battle had been fought and lost within their minds. That would not be what happened here, but it had been an interesting story.

  A shift of his foot as it scraped against the dirt of the arena was the only warning she received before he struck. A quick left sided blow was parried easily with a jolt and loud clatter. She felt the shift in the air as he moved once more, and her feet shifted again to dodge another blow from the right side.

  Her clumsy but effective parry turned into a counter attack that was parried by the Captain. The clack and shock from each blow traveled up her arm in quick succession. A thin sheen of sweat had coated her forehead, and each movement from either weapon or subsequent dodge caused a slight breeze against her skin. They circled one another slowly, eyes and hands steady as they took measure of each other. Boots scraped once more on the thick arena dirt as Uracen struck again. Another jolt and crack joined the song of battle. She danced around him, light of foot as ever, and the grim set of his jaw with the tick of his cheek was all she needed to begin again.

  Just as Emmaline was about to begin a series of counterattacks, her sensitive hearing picked up a much loved and very familiar voice. Her moment of distraction opened her up to a strike by Uracen, but she managed to turn it away. Focus. She had to focus on the now.

  Distraction is death.

  Suddenly motivated to finish the mock fight, she moved quickly, almost too quickly for the older guard captain, and aimed a low blow at his kneecap. He looked vaguely surprised at the unexpected strike as he brushed it away. She couldn’t help the burst of energy and accomplishment it inspired in her and with another few motions, she tapped the greying man solidly on his shoulder.

  As soon as the blow landed, they both stilled in surprise. She probably looked quite the sight with her mouth slightly open as if waiting for a fly to take roost b
ut she had scarce believed that she had actually done it. The rush of energy that followed made her briefly forget that she ached in places that she hadn’t ached in at least a year.

  Uracen’s eyes were wide as they just stared at her, then narrowed suspiciously but before he could open his mouth, a loud clap startled them both.

  Emmaline turned around to find just the person that she had heard only a short while ago. A brilliant and wide smile split her face as she found her father clapping loudly with a wide grin of his own. His bright blue eyes twinkled with merriment under dark curly hair that was longer than when she had last seen him. “Brilliant! Excellent form!” He cheered at her.

  Small feet moved to action as she gave what was probably a childish squeal which ended as her father’s large arms embraced her small form tightly. Her staff clattered to the ground next to them while she hugged her father back. It had been over a year since she had laid eyes on her father, and she had forgotten how much she missed his hugs while being fostered.

  Gregor D’Terin embraced his dearly missed child tightly, and Emmaline could feel the lines of his body relaxing as she sank into his embrace. After a few more moments, they released one another before she craned her neck to look up at up at him.

  “Papa, I missed you.”

  “And I you, little dove.”

  “Where did you leave to? I heard you were in the North. Did you stay long? Did you see Great Uncle and Uncle and Grandfather?”

  “And to think I actually missed you for a moment. So many questions! Ever since you were little, questions, questions, questions. You are nearly seventeen years old. One would think you would have run out of them by now.” The words were chiding but the tone was full of merriment, and all she could do was smile at him like the child that she suddenly became around him. It was as if she were perpetually five years old, on his lap in front of the fire reading stories and sneaking warm cups of milk and chocolate so that mama wouldn’t find out.

  “I have not been able to talk to you for an entire year! I get to ask as many questions as I please.”

  “I see your fostering with the Dwarves did nothing to curb that lip of yours either.” Her father raised a single eyebrow as he spoke and gave her a look. Emmaline responded by giving him a look of displeasure.

  “Sorry.” But she was decidedly not sorry at all.

  “Well, little dove, we will have much time to talk after I’ve seen your mother. We’ll go riding later after lunch maybe, and you can tell me all about your time fostering and I will tell you what I was doing?”

  “Will you bring sweetcakes?”

  “Hmmmm. I don’t know….” His lips had nearly disappeared into his well-trimmed beard as they formed a line.

  “Please? I haven’t had any sweetcakes in over a year.” Dwarves were not known much for their sweet tooth. Humans, on the other hand, always found new ways of combining sugar and flour to make delicious recipes, and she was glad to be back home for at least that reason.

  “I find that quite difficult to believe.” Her father raised a dark eyebrow in disbelief. He knew how much she enjoyed her sweets.

  “No, truly! They had no sweetcakes! It really should be a crime. It was all truffles and vegetables down in the mountain.”

  Her father’s face adopted a stern look, and then he sighed rather dramatically before giving her a smile. “Fine. Sweetcakes. How about a picnic? It can be just the two of us, like we used to when you were little?”

  “I don’t think I will bring my stuffed animals to this one, though.”

  “That’s probably best. Who knows how they will weather the ride?”

  “Father, I--.” Her sentence was cut off as one of the newer servants, Aymar she thought his name was, rushed to her father’s side, bowing before motioning with his eyes for her father to come aside, as if that was going to make a difference to what she would hear.

  The transformation from smiling, doting father to cool, authoritarian Duke always startled her somewhat. It was the way that people could change their entire persona as easily as changing clothes. It was one thing that had never been easy for her. “What news do you bring?”

  “My lord, perhaps it would be best--.”

  “I will decide what is best, not you, Aymar. Now, speak.”

  Aymar gave a sideways look to Emmaline, “You have a speaker waiting for you at the Triveri Glass.”

  Emmaline did not like the way that her father’s demeanor hardened, the way his jaw clenched at what should be a seemingly harmless statement. Triveri glasses were used at every Duke’s home. They were a way to communicate with the other provinces and with the capital quickly. She had even been in the room when one was used and the magic of it enamored her every time. It was mostly used for trade agreements and occasionally for her to talk with her Uncle, the Prince, and to coo at her cousin, who had recently had a name day celebration that she had missed, much to her disappointment.

  “Yes. Thank you. I will be there shortly.” He turned his attention away from the servant back to Emma. “Ready your riding clothes, and I will send a servant to fetch you when I am finished, alright dove?”

  She shifted her eyes down and planted her booted foot in the dirt before twisting her ankle side to side. “Yes, father. But I have embroidery lessons in half an hour. Irine will be quite cross, should I miss them.” Her tone was serious, despite the fact that she hated embroidery. It was boring, despite the fact that she was quite talented at it, and Irine could not praise her dexterity, finesse, and delicate hands enough.

  “I will handle Irine.” Her father gave her a wink before turning from her and walking out of the practice field up to his tower room.

  Once her father had disappeared, the sounds of the practice yard and of the Captain came into focus. “Make sure that staff goes on the weapon rack, Lady D’Terin.” Emmaline turned her attention to the staff she had carelessly dropped to the ground and picked it up swiftly. She turned on a heel and took one step before her recently forgotten but very much bruised backside promptly protested loudly. Her next step more resembled a limp, rather than a stride. She took another limping step before another she heard their laughter, their soft laughter at her. At her. She turned her attention to the sniggering foundlings across the practice yard with their heads close together, eyeing her and whispering, “Girls can’t take training. She should get back to being a pretty ornament for her father to marry her off.” Even with their quiet voices, she could hear them as if they were standing right next to her while they mocked her.

  Her eyes seared into them and they stopped their sniggering almost immediately while watching her uncomfortably. “It’s like she heard us,” the one who spoke before whispered to his compatriot. “But she couldn’t have, could she?”

  With a sneer of contempt, she turned away from them, fuming. How dare they talk about her like that? She was the granddaughter of the King. The hardwood of the oaken staff dug into her palm while her hands clenched in anger at the injustice of it. Women were just as capable as men at doing anything they wished. Merely because they had a different anatomy didn’t make them any less strong, brave, or intelligent. It riled her that women were treated like property in their Kingdom. It wasn’t fair, but luckily for her that her father paid no heed to such things.

  With head held high, she did her best not to limp or show any signs of pain or weakness as she resumed her chore of placing her training staff onto the weapons rack. With hardly a look around the courtyard, she mounted the steps out of the dusty training ground and opened the heavy doors into the keep.

  The stone halls echoed with the voices of the denizens of her father’s home -- servants, guards, even the occasional visiting noble -- and the warm hum was a welcome sound with the beat of her boots on the floors. Her room was up the stairs to the third floor of the keep while the training hall was at the ground floor. The trip up the stairs would not be a pleasant one.

  Tapestries lined the halls that she had passed by and looked at hundreds of
times but were still no less beautiful each time she walked by, and she admired them each chance she had. The Dwarves had no tapestries in their halls of stone, but instead, great murals adorned the main caverns of the underground network of tunnels from which they lived.

  Emmaline reached out to stroke the fine fabric of one of her favorite scenes. It was of a lone green tree in a field of yellow gold wheat. She had always loved nature. The sounds, smells, sights and feel of it intrigued her like the city never had. The hard march of chainmail boots brought her mind back to the present, and she turned away from the tapestry to resume her trek.

  The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and pie as she passed by, and her stomach growled. “Not now,” she whispered and placed a hand over the offending organ before quickening her pace, lest Gisell catch her lurking about the entryway. Gisell did not let anyone into her kitchen that didn’t belong there, and it had taken two strikes with her long wooden spoon for Emmaline to learn that particular fact. The old kitchen mistress would let her do whatever she pleased in the kitchens, but Berin had died two winters ago from the wasting sickness. Her parents had given her family a sum to help them until they could find another way to make a living. Her grandson, Robert, had taken up as a stable boy after coming of age.