Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy Book #1)
Curse of the Blood Fox
Sleepless
by
Sera Ashling
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Copyright © 2013 Sera Ashling
All rights reserved
Kindle Edition
Cover design and illustrations by Sera Ashling
Stock art owned and provided by: RaeyenIrael-Stock
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events and people, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing by the author.
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To Jon and Jetty, the two reasons this book is done at all.
Table of Contents
Country of Kurdak – The Trade Road
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Country of Kurdak – Gronmid
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Country of Kurdak – The Enchanted Forest
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Country of Kurdak – The Final Choice
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Afterword
About the Author
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Robert Frost
Country of Kurdak – The Trade Road
Chapter One
It was coming.
I was stumbling down the dusty road like a drunk, the blue haze of early morning tickling my nose. The new day smelled like spring and freshly-cleaned sheets, though the latter was probably just my imagination. Hardly anything could be trusted now, not with the Dream trying to take over. After three straight days of endless travel, not even Meditation would help.
It was coming, and I should have been somewhere safe and isolated.
Instead, I was on Kurdak’s busy trade road, a long path which cut north and south through the entire country. What’s more, I was blearily staring up the nostrils of a donkey whose wagon driver had decided to read rather than steer. The beast had stopped a mere inch from the edge of my wide-brimmed cone hat, and now glared at me with blood-shot eyes as if I were the cause of its problems. For a moment the haze around my mind lessened as it snapped its large teeth in my face.
“Excuse me,” I said amicably, and tried to edge around. The creature jerked and shied away, large ears flat against its head, and the distracted driver was finally forced to look down from his wrinkled letter-sized paper as he almost toppled out of the cart.
“You there,” he bellowed, and suddenly I was staring up his nostrils instead. He was middle-aged and short-limbed, and all alone. “What are you doing to my horse?”
“Horse?” I looked back at the jumpy donkey.
“The very nerve,” the man continued. He had long sideburns that bristled when he spoke. “Isn’t it bad enough you brutes walk around wearing weapons openly? What right do you have to harass a helpless man on his way home? I'll have you know this road is protected by the Emperor of Kurdak himself. Even mercenaries have to follow his laws.”
I supposed he was referring to my clothes, the stylized black and maroon fighting robe that pegged me as a freelance mercenary, a collector of bounties and requests that usually involved metal over mind. I was smaller than mercenaries usually came, though, and thinner, and very used to hearing from the helpless citizens who felt harassed by my presence. I bowed my head, and the world seemed to sway.
“I'll be on my way then, sir,” I said.
“Outrageous,” he spat, possibly interpreting my response as a conversation starter. “I don't know why you people are allowed in these civilized parts.”
“I suppose we must be profitable to have around somehow,” I offered. He scoffed, sideburns trembling again.
“Profitable? Only for the worst types.” His eyes narrowed drastically. “You sound like a young girl. This disgraceful work is not a proper business, leastwise for a scrawny pup like you. What would your parents think?”
“I've wondered that many times myself.”
The man peered down at me, one thick eyebrow propped up. He must have decided I was being facetious, because his lips formed a snarl.
“You’re all the same, young or old. Manners lost on the lot of you. You should at least have the decency to show your face when you talk instead of hiding under that ridiculous hat.”
“I apologize,” I said, because it was polite. Wasn’t agreeing with him supposed to ensure camaraderie? Perhaps my impending problem was causing me to remember my studies wrong. Nonetheless, I was compelled to tug the brim of my hat lower instead of higher, and watched forlornly through the cross-hatched straw as the man’s face contorted. He sputtered, mouth opening, but a sudden jerk from his donkey sent the paper he was clutching flying into the air.
“Zira! Oh, my dear Zira,” he cried, almost tumbling out of the wagon seat after it. The paper fluttered past my shoulder and I snatched it mid-flight, handing it back to him. The man tore it from me with an expression like I had peeked at his private parts. He held the letter close to his chest as he snapped the reins, forcing the donkey to lurch forward and away. He didn’t look back down at me as he left, or try for more conversation. I wondered what the marker of the end of the exchange had been, and if I had missed it.
Yes, keep thinking. Stay awake. Don’t let it take you yet.
Some young people, balancing lumber on their shoulders, had stopped to watch. As I looked over, they immediately became interested in some birds in the treetops instead. That wasn’t surprising—the robe had that effect.
I wished they would talk. I wished there was another talkative man with a cart to distract me. Anything to stop it from taking hold now.
Suddenly there was a distraction—a soft tug on the long hem of my sleeve. I looked back sharply, troubled by the possibility of having let a common thief sneak up on me. Lethargic but practiced, my hand was already on the hilt of a dagger hidden in my robe.
The culprit was a black dog, which stared up at me with playful brown eyes. I blew air out between my teeth and let go of the dagger. Common enough this one was… but not a thief. I tried to look disinterested beneath the shadow of my large hat, but the dog was no fool.
“Is this a bad time for a visit?” he asked, tail wagging. That magic-induced voice, a hollow echo of his real one, tickled at my ears. His four-footed stride fell into pattern with mine.
“Now Traken, when have you ever cared about that?” I asked, the corners of my eyes prickling. This was not the sort of distraction I wanted. He chuckled, ears perking as he waited for some travelers to pass before speaking again.
“Come now, I am much more pleasant company than that donkey, am I not?”
“Spying shows an ugly personality.”
“Is that
what you read in that book of yours?”
He was referring to the only piece of literature I owned, a small book on proper etiquette that was weighing down the bottom of my traveling pack. The red cover had been worn and faded when I found it a year back, and now the pages barely stayed in. Traken had caught me studying it once, and now he teased me every chance he got.
“There is nothing wrong with learning to interact with others properly,” I said.
“Has it helped?”
I shrugged. “It seems to end conversations faster.”
“Well done.” The cheerfulness in his voice was persistent, and the sigh that escaped me sounded like the echo of a thousand sighs before it.
“Is that it then? Simply stalking me for your lord’s sake again?”
“That is such a strong word, stalking, especially as I’ve been less than secretive about it. How’s your health been?”
“The same as always,” I said wearily, and then balked at how easily I had responded. “Tell your lord I am not interested in being hounded any longer.”
“You’ve used that one before,” the black dog said with a toothy grin. It was probably more than once, but my mind would not clear. “I just happened to be passing by and caught your scent, that’s all. You looked a little ill, and it piqued my curiosity.”
He was baiting. He was always baiting, and he was always curious. I couldn’t understand the man in the cart, his donkey, or the three travelers now passing by on horse and wearing mute expressions, but even in my current state I could always understand creatures like Traken. It was best to know your prey, just as it was to know your enemy… and even better to make them one and the same.
“Your lord must be quite powerful to employ a sorcerer that can always find me, no matter where I am. Why does he send you, instead of meeting in person? It has been a long time. You’ve told me he’s interested, but not in what. You’ve told me he rules many, but I’ve never found his domain. He must be getting on in years now. Is he truly satisfied whiling his resources and time away like this?”
“I don't have those kinds of answers for you,” Traken said with a comic bow. Such grace in a man-turned-beast.
“Well. For the record, I don’t like it.”
“So you often say,” Traken said with another toothy grin. “I enjoy our little moments together, Santo, short as they are. You never know, maybe the answers to your questions will find their way to you sooner than you think.”
“Is that a tip-off, or just a vague insinuation to taunt me? I had hope the first ten years that I would figure out what you are up to, but it can’t possibly be an extra blade your master is looking for at this point. Besides, I do not fight for lords or any others.”
He let out an amused huff, beady eyes sparkling. “Says the infamous Blood Fox.”
“I dislike that name.”
“I like it. It has an erotic ring.”
“It doesn’t, and I don't want to hear that from you,” I said, eyes slitted. “Your tastes run strange.”
“You don't even know my tastes,” the dog said, licking his muzzle. I huffed out a laugh, at the very least a small one, my swords clacking between my shoulder blades.
“Anything that has to do with pain or death gets your tail wagging. Whatever your tastes, they aren't benign.”
I kicked up dust on the road, and the dog sneezed as it hit him in the face. An older woman passing by, bent under a heavy load of cabbage in a large basket on her back, looked at us with sunken-in eyes as we passed.
“Next time you visit on an open road, Traken, come as your human-self. People might start to think I’m crazy otherwise.”
“They already think that, kitten.”
Traken’s laughter echoed through the air as he ended the conversation by darting off the side of the road, dark fur melding into shadows of the nearby wilderness. I ignored the looks I was getting from a cluster of young men driving a cart nearby and hurried on. Traken had bought me some time, but it would not be held back much longer. Luckily, I was almost there.
Early morning had developed into a buttery golden glow as I finally dragged my heavy feet into the town of Rusuro, a bustling city that sat at the center of Kurdak’s trade road. It had only been a month since I had been back in this southern peninsula. I had traveled through many locations during my long absence, some safer and nicer, but I was always drawn back.
The familiarity of the town built up a delightful warmth in my chest, as if I had finally come home. The spring air, crisp and fresh, carried the smells of baking bread from the large marketplace. The roads of Rusuro were hard-packed dirt, and the buildings were made of stone in the good parts and wood in the bad, but the marketplace was what contained all the diversity and wealth of the brimming township. Residents and travelers alike flocked in large numbers around the many colorful stands.
I could remember a different Rusuro. I could still see it in its infancy, a tiny village of only a few small families, bent on making use of the large trade road that an ambitious new emperor had undertaken. In those days, Rusuro had been called Bartlet. The reason for the name change had always been lost on me… I had been gone for fourteen years on the islands of Bardo at the time, and when I returned, Bartlet was no more. It was good to see it glowing, though.
I didn’t have time to enjoy myself, not now. I cut a path through the heavy midday crowd towards the smallest, homeliest inn that Rusuro had to offer, a building dubbed “The Little Flower”. I kept my gaze low and face shielded under the wide brim of my hat. From below the cross-hatched straw, the bottom-halves of many people went by; hairy legs, cotton dresses, and dirty bare feet.
Passing a water fountain where some street kids were playing kick-the-straw-sack, a chill suddenly took hold of my back. It snapped me to my senses, this instinct, and I whirled, slashing out with a dagger from my sleeve in one fluid sweep. I expected another sword, an arrow, a wild mutt… anything but the “thunk” noise as something solid sank onto my blade. It took me an embarrassingly long measure to realize that there was now an apple on the end of my dagger. Bright, shiny and red, dripping juices into the dirt.
I looked up to where it had come from.
There was a young boy, maybe ten or eleven years of age, with dark hair and clothes that had been sewn from a potato sack. His cheeks were red, and his bared teeth bestowed a grudge. Since he was unarmed, I pulled the apple off and stashed the weapon.
“We don't need mercs in this town,” the boy called, his fists balled and his bottom lip trembling. His voice rose to a near shriek. “Get out, get out now!”
People slowed, balancing shopping baskets and loads of laundry. Hushed murmurs traveled over our heads, and the space around us became more confined and intimidating. Stagnant sweat wafted to me as the bodies pushed in.
“S-say something,” the boy shouted. I was staring at the apple still, frankly tickled that it had landed on my dagger like that. I was also thanking the gods for wonderful distractions, and yet another chance to practice the lessons from my book.
“I was hungry. Thank you for the apple,” I told him politely, and wondered in my addled state if I had started the conversation off at the right point. I was pretty sure gratitude was supposed to come first.
The boy’s face went blank, then tightened. Another child stepped up, a nervous little imp who was a whole head shorter than the first one. He didn’t look at me, just grabbed the angry boy’s wrist and tried to lead him away. The boy stumbled a step or two, but then pulled his hand back and turned to me.
“You think you’re so mighty, don't you?” he cried, spit flying off his lips. “I’m not afraid of you, you stupid blood-taker! Sneaking into people's homes, messing with their lives like you got the right. How would you like it if someone came and slit your throat in your sleep just ‘cause you were there?”
I stared at him. He had a brave young face, sun-bronzed and vibrant, with tears mudding his dirty face. I wanted to grin and laugh and shout at the beauty in those
scorching little eyes.
That would not be appropriate in this situation, I reminded myself sternly. This is a sad moment, remember your manners. He is only expressing his hurt over your lack of understanding for his situation.
“I am sorry for your loss,” I said, and bowed my head respectfully. “You have my very deep condolences.”
The young boy gaped along with the small crowd, and as he did not respond and I was in a hurry, I ruled it a sign that our meeting was over. As I turned and walked away, taking a bite out of my crisp present, the people who had stopped swarmed towards the boy. Their voices, clambering over one another, reached my ears.
“Don't worry, yeh cheeky git. There, there.”
“What kind of demon was that?”
“Poor little gnat… I heard a dangerous merc went bad and knocked off his entire family. No reason, must have gone mad.”
“Doesn’t mean you can keep attacking all the mercenaries that arrive in town, young man. What if that had been a nasty one? What if it had been the Blood Fox?”
“Bah! Superstitions and tales. Too many crooked money-seekers start out with a blade, calling themselves the Blood Fox. The real one probably died off a long time ago.”
“Nonsense, they wouldn’t still have a bounty out on his head.”
“He could be a mage-blood.”
I walked faster, and finally found a way out of the swarms of people and into the quieter, seedier parts of the town. The Little Flower was deceivingly desolate. It was a place well known as a safe house for those who did not want to be noticed or bothered. Stepping through the open door, I was met by a familiar, flustered face.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked from one of the many doorways, wiping her forehead with the back of one sleeve. Madam Jin was older than when I had last seen her, short and on the plump side, with a small sprinkling of gray through the brown hair that was held back in a messy bun. Her eyes lit the moment she got a good look, but her lips stayed cautiously pursed.
“I was wandering if you had a vacancy,” I said with a wide grin, tipping up the brim of my hat.