Kingdom of Wind & Fire (The Elemental Kingdoms Series Book 1) Read online

  Kingdom of Wind & Fire

  Elemental Kingdoms Series

  By

  RA Lewis

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. All rights reserved.

  Kingdom of Wind & Fire Copyright 2020 © R.A. Lewis

  Cover art by Jennifer Stevens for Down Write Nuts

  Map art by Arielle Barels

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Also by R.A. Lewis

  Novel, Fantasy

  Secrets & Swords

  The Valdir Chronicles

  Born of Air, The Valdir Chronicles Book 1

  Born of Embers, The Valdir Chronicles Book 2

  Born of Blood, The Valdir Chronicles Book 3

  Born of Stone, The Valdir Chronicles Novella

  The Valdir Chronicles Full Series

  The Elemental Kingdoms Series

  Kingdom of Wind & Fire, The Elemental Kingdoms Series Book 1

  Kingdom of Spirit & Sorrow, The Elemental Kingdoms Series Book 2

  Short Story, Fantasy

  The Sell Sword And The Beast

  The Sell Sword And The Bandits

  The Sell Sword And The Raven Girl

  The Sell Sword And The Siren

  Last Date to Prom

  Short Story, Sci-Fi

  The Bird

  Dedication

  For those trying to find their power in a cruel world.

  Table of contents

  Kingdom of Wind & Fire

  Also by R.A. Lewis

  Dedication

  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

  Map

  Chapter 1

  The deep bonging of the Cathal Abbey bells pealed overhead, sending out a somber call into the dark landscape around it. The tolling said it was midnight, the perfect time for an escape.

  Brayden’s bright red hair was hidden beneath a dark jacket, the hood pulled up to hide his face in deep shadow. From his vantage point crouched behind a rain barrel, he could see the entire abbey yard from the iron and wood front gate to the front doors of the monastery. He watched, holding his breath, as the SpiritSinger and his retinue closed the front gates and retired to their rooms in the barracks for the night. The last thing he wanted was to get their attention before he was gone. If he did that, then he was dead.

  He waited for another half an hour, counting down the minutes until he could be sure that the guards were taking their shoes off and climbing into bed, until he saw the light globe in the SpiritSinger’s room go dark. Only then did he turn away from the yard and head to the stables.

  The stables were the only warmth on this cold winter’s night, and he shivered as he entered, grateful for the heat from the nearby horses. He dug in the hay near the door and pulled out supplies he had hidden there days before. He pulled out a knife and strapped it to his inner wrist within easy reach. He knew he’d need it.

  The horse he’d chosen was the fastest in the abbey, but also the most likely to throw him. Luckily, Brayden had spent days last year breaking the gelding for the horse master, so he knew this one. He saddled the black gelding and quietly led him from the stables, pausing every few minutes to watch and listen for pursuit. As long as the SpiritSinger didn’t catch him, then he had a chance.

  The gate stood unguarded but locked, the threat of the SpiritSinger enough to deter any slave from leaving the abbey. But Brayden didn’t care, he was done. This was his chance. Either he escaped today, or he died slowly by degrees. So, as he passed by the tiny empty guard shack at the main gates, he casually sliced his finger open with his dagger, letting a drop of blood fall onto the dirt before the doors.

  Power rushed through him, speeding through his blood until it filled him to the brim. He released the magic onto the wooden guard house, his own anger and pain causing the brash decision. There it blossomed into flame. With a thought, he turned the spark into a tendril of flame and sent it licking up the doors and onto the wooden struts over the top of the gate, igniting everything in its path. As it burned, he pushed a ball of fire into the lock on the iron gates, pressing until it was white hot. Soon the lock had melted entirely, the gates swinging open on their rusty hinges at his slight push.

  He released his hold on the flames, letting them burn out naturally as they consumed the gates. He was never really sure how long the flames would burn as long as they had fuel. He didn’t know enough about the limits of his magic to be sure of anything. But that didn’t stop him, not this time.

  He mounted his black horse and spurred it into motion, launching through the open gates and down the cobbled path that led to the small village surrounding the abbey. Cathal Abbey was dedicated to the Dark God of Death, a strange religious sect that tended to draw SpiritSingers and religious zealots. A shout rose behind him and he urged the horse faster, knowing his fiery display had alerted the one person he’d wanted to avoid. He cursed himself under his breath as he galloped down the streets of the small town. If he was out of eyesight before the SpiritSinger awoke, then just maybe he had a chance.

  Doors opened and light globes came to life all around the village as he raced by, his horse’s hooves making an awful clattering on the stones. His heart was pounding, adrenaline thick in his veins. He could hear the barking of dogs and the shouts from behind him as his pursuers readied for the chase.

  The wind beat at his ears as the horse cleared the relative shelter of the houses, and the wide-open expanse of farmlands stretched to the Malise Mountains before him. He knew that he would be safe once he made it to the mountains, there were too many places to hide in there. He kicked the horse faster, hoping his dark cloak and the dark horse would help him blend into the night.

  It wasn’t long until he heard the sounds of pursuit. An arrow whizzed by his head, narrowly missing him. His heart skipped a pounding beat, but he didn’t stop. He urged the horse to zig-zag as they ran. It might slow him down, but it would make him a harder target to hit. A second arrow went right over his head, but the third hit home.

  A searing pain lanced up his side as the arrow pierced the flesh of his thigh, ripping open a gash and spilling blood down his leg and onto the horses’ flank. He hissed in pain, abandoning his zig-zagging and urging the horse to run straight. The sooner he lost his pursuers the sooner he’d be able to tend to the wound. Blood was not
a commodity he could afford to lose.

  Soon the foothills rose around him and he was winding his way through low brush. Each branch that brushed his bleeding leg caused him to gasp in pain, making his head swim. He risked a look over his shoulder and was unable to see or hear anyone behind him, so he pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a walk. He quickly tore the edge off his cloak to bind the wound after yanking out the arrow. Then he shook a few drops of his blood to the ground, calling on his magic with a thought, the power roaring to life within him. Where his blood had spilled, a brush fire sparked, and he sent it down the hill, in the direction he had come. He then sent it spiraling out to either side, hoping to give himself enough time to get higher into the mountains.

  When he released the magic, he felt drained and more exhausted than he’d ever been before, whether from magic use or blood loss he didn’t know. He’d never been given a chance to test the true limits of his power. While he’d just used more than he’d ever used in his life, he knew in his gut that this was just brushing the surface. He shook his head, trying to clear it of fatigue and urged the horse north, into the dark trees and the Malise Mountains above.

  * * *

  “Brianna don’t forget to feed the chickens,” her mother called from across the tiny two-room house. Brianna let out a long sigh. She had been taking care of the chickens every morning since she could remember. She wasn’t likely to forget. But today was her eighteenth name day so she decided to forgive her mother’s little poke.

  “Of course, mum,” she said, braiding back her thick red hair and heading out into the morning light. She took a basket off a hook by the door and walked around the house to the small coop that shared a wall with their cellar. Six fat hens clucked away, waiting to be let out into the sunshine so they could peck and scratch at the dirt. Brianna opened their coop and the ladies bustled out, their fluffy bottoms never failing to make her smile.

  “Now girls, don’t forget to make yourselves pretty today. It’s my name day you know, and I won’t have you making a bad impression!” She often spoke to the chickens as though they understood her. It made her feel less lonely in their small mountain village.

  She looked around carefully, making sure no one else was about, before she pricked the end of her finger on a sewing needle she kept hidden in the collar of her dress and let a drop of blood fall to earth. With a whisper of power, she summoned a swirling breeze that caught up the chicken feed in her basket and whisked it through the air before she released the magic and the seed spread out across the yard for the hens to eat. She sucked her finger clean and went to collect the eggs waiting for her in the nesting box.

  Then she went inside to cook breakfast for herself and her mother. The two women sat around a small table eating: two eggs fried in a skillet over the small cook fire her mother had built with her FireWalker gift and two pieces of toast. Brianna sipped her warm tea, lightly spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon, and waited for her mother to say something, to possibly wish her a happy name day.

  Finally, the older woman spoke.

  “I know today is an important day for you, darling,” she began. Kaelen Kirk was pretty by any standard, but her face was lined with fear and worry, her reddish-blonde hair already streaked with white. She twisted her hands in her lap for a moment before she stood up and went to a small chest of drawers by the hearth where she withdrew a package, bringing it to the table.

  “What is it?” Brianna asked, curious. She’d never been given a name day present before. Not that her mother hadn’t wanted to give her one. They’d just always been too poor. So, this was a special occasion.

  “Why don’t you open it and find out.” Her mother smiled, handing over the package wrapped in brown paper. Brianna took it gently and carefully tore open the paper. Inside was a lovely new dress made with a deep green fabric. There was a cream underdress as well and a new leather belt laid atop them both. She fingered the fabric reverently and looked up at her mother, unspoken feelings welling within her.

  “It’s beautiful, mum,” she said, putting it down and leaning across the table, pulling her mother into a hug. “It’s perfect.”

  Her mother smiled a sad smile and waved her off.

  “Why don’t you go try it on so we can make sure it fits before you go dancing tonight.”

  Brianna’s heart lifted in joy and she snatched up the package, racing to the small bedroom she and her mother shared in the back of the house. When she was fully dressed, she admired herself in an old, tarnished bit of mirror her mother had bought off a trader a few autumns back. She looked like a darker, wilder version of her mother. She was pretty, with bright green eyes and dark red hair, freckles dancing across her nose and cheeks, and much of her body besides. She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and debated the ways in which she could wear it before the mid-winter festival that night.

  That was how she always knew it was her name day. She shared it with the festival called Alawn’s Day, the day they celebrated and honored the God of Winter and Water. It wasn’t her patron god, who was Aoife, the goddess of Spring and Air, but it was still her favorite because it was her name day.

  Before everyone became busy with festival activities, Brianna made her way to the cliff on the edge of the village that looked down over the Malise Mountains and farmlands to the south. She wanted to be alone. Today was her eighteenth name day, and she refused to give it entirely over to helping decorate for the festival.

  The day was misty and cold, the air still as death as she stood on the cliff’s edge. Usually, she felt safest using her magic here, where prying eyes from the village couldn’t watch her. So she pricked her finger, letting more blood drip than she had with the chickens, and let the magic flow out of her. It felt like cool water running through her veins, a prickling on her scalp and goosebumps rising on her skin as the magic flowed forth. She called up a small breeze, brushing the fog away with its breath. But as soon as she asked it to push a bit harder, blow a bit more, the magic began to spool away from her, quicker than she could rein it in or let it go. The breeze turned into a strong wind, whipping around her and sending her carefully braided red hair flapping with her dress. She felt tugged and pulled in every direction. She couldn’t seem to release the magic and she began to panic. The wind grew into a gale and soon the trees along the cliff face were bending in the wind and she could hear branches snapping. She opened her mouth to cry out, but the words were snatched away by the wind.

  Her eyes wide in terror, she looked around for help. That’s when she saw the horse struggling up the mountain path below, pushing against the wind, a rider slumped forward on its back.

  With that distraction, the wind died, just as suddenly as it had started, and Brianna let out a sharp breath. She turned and ran back into the village. A lone rider was rarely a good thing. Usually there were wagon trains of traders or slavers that came through the village. A lone rider meant trouble.

  Her mother was kneading bread dough near an outdoor stove with a few other women, when Brianna arrived breathless, with bits of leaves and twigs sticking in her hair. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell her mother of the rider when her mother scowled.

  “Just look at your hair, Brianna. What have you done to it?” Her mother knew very well what had happened to her hair. It happened often enough. But she never spoke about it in public. Her mother wiped her hands on a hand towel and then pulled Brianna aside, picking the bits of detritus from her hair. “Now you know you aren’t supposed to be using your magic,” she whispered harshly. Brianna nodded in agreement, but there were more important things to discuss.

  “I’m sorry, mum,” she said trying to push away her mother’s hand. “But there was a lone rider coming up the mountain path.”

  Her mother looked up sharply, eyes narrowed.

  “A lone rider? I’d better tell Myles. He’ll have the men investigate.” Her mother hurried off; her daughter’s hair forgotten. Brianna tried in vain to smooth out her braids and followed her mo
ther.

  Soon Myles and his two sons, Adam and Edward, ran by her towards the cliff and the mountain path through the trees on the edge of the village. Adam grinned at her as he jogged by, and she gave a strained smile in return. She stopped by the large pile of wood that was being stacked up for the bonfire that night and watched the tree line as fear and hope mixed in her chest. Whenever something exciting happened in their little village, she always found herself hoping. She wasn’t quite sure what she hoped for, however. Her mother came up behind her as the three men came back into the village square, a black horse in tow and a limp figure atop it.

  The man on its back wasn’t moving, his body slumped forward and a dark brown stain that Brianna knew was blood on the front of his left pant leg. Gennifer, the village’s healer, came forward and pulled back the man’s hood and Brianna gasped at his face. Her heart began to pound as her mother’s voice could be heard yelling above the general hubbub of the gathering crowd of townsfolk.

  “Brayden? Brayden?”

  Chapter 2

  “Brayden?”

  Her mother’s voice was shrill, desperate, and filled with hope. Brianna’s chest felt like it was simultaneously filling up and caving in. It couldn’t be Brayden. Brayden was dead. Or at least she’d told herself that for years.

  “Get him down,” Gennifer said, gesturing for Adam and Edward to help pull Brayden down off the horse. “Bring him into my house,” she directed, taking control of the situation. As they did, the healer put her arm around Kaelen’s shoulder and drew her after them, gesturing over her shoulder for Brianna to follow. Numbly, Brianna obeyed, in too much shock to do anything else.

  “Now, Kaelen, I know this seems like a gift from the gods, but remember, he has been gone for a long time. He may not know who you are.” Gennifer led Kaelen inside and sat her at a chair by the long table. “Brianna, why don’t you fetch us some tea.” Brianna stood in the doorway, observing the room, not quite knowing what to do with herself, but she was grateful for a task.