The Furyck Saga (The First Three Volumes) Read online

  The Furyck Saga

  The first three volumes

  A.E. Rayne

  The Furyck Saga

  The first three volumes

  Contents

  Book One

  Winter’s Fury

  Map

  Prologue

  I. Destiny

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  II. Adrift

  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

  III. Into the Storm

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  IV. Fury

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Epilogue

  The Characters

  Book Two

  The Burning Sea

  Map

  Map detail

  Prologue

  I. A Crack in the Ice

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  II. Unravelling

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  III. Saala

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  IV. The Burning Sea

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  V. Hest

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  VI. Darkness

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  The Characters

  Book Three

  Night of the Shadow Moon

  Map

  Prologue

  I. The Cave

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  II. The Room

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  III. The Storm

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  IV. The Door

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  V. The River

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  VI. The Plan

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  VII. The Shadow Moon

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  The Characters

  Sign up

  About the Author

  Book One

  Winter’s Fury

  For Cass

  Prologue

  You tried to take my head, as my sisters went before,

  but in the dark you slept and let the wolf slip out your door.

  You tried to take the book, the one that Tagus stole for me,

  but I have it with me still, and its magic set me free.

  You tried to take my home, but I will begin again;

  I will make myself an army of one hundred thousand men.

  And when my name has faded from your memories and your lips,

  I will crawl out of my grave, and I will ready all my ships.

  And when you’re at your strongest, when your happiness is full,

  I will bring to you the Darkness and destroy the Furyck’s rule.

  And when the night is blackest, and your lands are burnt by war...

  Your eyes will blind.

  Your blood will flow.

  Your hearts will beat no more.

  Edela woke with a gasp, her heart hammering loudly in her ears. She tried to hold on to the fading dream, to cling to the warning before it slipped away again, before she fell asleep, before she forgot everything. But it was too late. She couldn’t stop her eyes closing, closing, closing... and once again, the warning fell back, into the abyss of her forgotten memories.

  I

  Destiny

  1

  Jael Furyck’s feet were slowly freezing, in wet socks, that clung unpleasantly to numb toes, sitting in damp boots, which, although new, were already leaking. She tried to focus on the uncomfortable sensation of her cold feet, pressing them harder into the wet wool, into the soft, damp leather of her boots, into the reeds that lined the hard mud floor. She tried to imagine them twisting and strong, like the roots of the oldest tree in Brekka, buried deep in the earth, solid and unwavering. If she could do that, if she could focus on her feet, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe there was a chance she could control the urgent, angry fire coursing up through her body and into her mouth. No! Not her mouth, her feet, her feet! She must stay there, thinking of her feet, so far away from her mouth. She had to ignore the screaming violence throbbing at the base of her throat, demanding to be released. She couldn’t let him, them, all of them, watch as she lost control.
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  Lothar Furyck sat impatiently on the edge of his finely carved throne and waited, glowering furiously at his niece’s continued silence. His announcement, moments earlier, had guaranteed a hasty reaction from her but where was it? Jael had a fierce temper, and this was to be the ultimate humiliation of her, and, by extension, her whole family, but so far she would not play his carefully constructed game. Her face remained impassive, and although he was certain she was raging internally, she said nothing, which caused an uncomfortable silence to creep around them both. But Lothar had to say something, though, or the moment would be lost to him. The people in the hushed hall, sitting on their cold benches, looking up at him and her – soon those people would start to wonder what power he truly had over any of them.

  Lothar bit down on his annoyance, cleared his throat sharply, and spoke as if there had been no awkward silence at all. ‘And so, the wedding feast will take place on Oss, in 15 days. Enough time for you to find a dress, I hope.’ He waved one hand dismissively in the direction of Jael’s well-worn trousers and cloak. ‘And enough time for the rest of us to be back in Andala before the Freeze.’

  Lothar glared down at her, his bulging eyes demanding a reply, and this time Jael knew she had to trust herself with a word or two; what choice did she have? Her whole body trembled with rage, but she had to try. ‘Will I be able to take my horse?’ she asked dully, her lips barely moving.

  Lothar thought for a moment, not really caring, just relieved that she was finally speaking. ‘Yes, you may. But you will give up your sword. You won’t need it where you are going.’

  There was an audible murmur around the hall at that, which surprised Lothar and sent another bolt of fury shuddering down Jael’s rigid spine; her sword! ‘That was my father’s sword,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, her devastation revealing itself at last.

  ‘That was my father’s sword,’ Lothar growled, leaning forward to impress upon her his position atop the high seat, the ancient throne of the Kingdom of Brekka. ‘And, as king, as the Furyck heir, it is I who own that sword, not you. It is centuries old, handed down from king to king. How or why you received it when my brother died, I do not know.’

  She wanted to launch herself at him then. To rip out his vile throat, lying hidden behind the rolls of gelatinous fat gathering around his sagging chin; to watch his life-blood course down his bloated belly until he was white with death. Take her sword?! She was seething now and stood on the edge, ready to abandon all reason, but then, remembering her feet, she dug her toes deep into her boots, clamping her jaw shut and fixing her face with an unnatural smile. He wasn’t going to humiliate her any further; she wouldn’t give him that. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  Lothar frowned, disappointed. He had watched her desperately trying to gain hold of her temper, and it looked as though she had succeeded. Oh well, he conceded, he had hit his mark at least; she was badly, if not fatally, wounded. He could feel the growl of his dead brother at his back then. Here he was, sitting on his brother’s throne, selling his beloved daughter off to his enemy; this was a good day. Just the thought of Ranuf’s indignant face imbued him with confidence, and the smile that curled from his wet mouth was wide and brimming with satisfaction.

  ‘Good,’ Lothar said coolly, glancing at his son, Osbert, who was struggling to contain his annoyance at Jael’s calm reaction; he too had hoped for more than this damp fire. ‘We will speak more of this tomorrow, but for now, we must begin the meal before it’s cold and tastes like shit. Alp!’ he barked at his servant, who was hovering anxiously behind him. ‘Have the food brought to the tables!’ Alp bowed his head silently and left. ‘And drink!’ Lothar yelled after him. ‘More drink!’

  Jael was rooted to the spot as the hall suddenly burst into life around her. The servants started moving again, bringing dishes to tables, filling cups with ale and mead, conversations sparking quickly around them. It felt as though every pair of eyes had turned on her and Jael was desperate to escape. Glancing quickly around the hall, she spotted her mother, Gisila, lurking uncomfortably near one of the large fire pits, the shock of Lothar’s words furrowing her brow. Jael made straight for her.

  Gisila, who had once been queen in this, Brekka’s King’s Hall, had now seen her family brought to a new low. She glanced wistfully towards the high table, where Lothar and his vulgar son sat. She could still see her husband, Ranuf, up there and she on his right, dressed in fine garments, so far away from the plain homespun she had been reduced to since her demotion to nothingness. Gisila felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes, then the sudden pull from behind, as Jael grabbed her roughly by the arm and hurried her outside.

  Dark rain clouds rushed across the face of the moon; a storm was brewing, but Jael barely noticed as she stalked down Andala’s main street, her head bent and hood up to avoid the latecomers heading for the hall. Gisila walked quickly beside her, struggling to keep up with both her daughter and the panic that was growing in her chest.

  When they reached Gisila’s small cottage in the centre of town, Jael pushed her mother inside and slammed the door behind them. Gisila’s servant jumped in surprise, then, with one look at Jael’s furious face, she made herself scarce, merging into the shadows at the back of the sparsely furnished room.

  Jael dropped her hood and turned towards her mother, narrowing her hard, green eyes accusingly.

  ‘I, I didn’t know,’ Gisila spluttered quickly, sensing the angry fire that was coming. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Jael was too wild to speak. Her eyes roamed over the poverty of the cottage, at the erosion of their old life. When her father had ruled, their freedom had been assured; now everything had changed. Lothar could and did play with them as he wished. He was a capricious man and delighted in subtle torment.

  ‘You cannot marry that man,’ Gisila muttered crossly behind her. ‘He is nothing. His family is nothing! His father was a slave, Ranuf’s enemy and a slave! It’s an insult. The worst that Lothar has done to us!’

  That was like her mother, Jael thought, always seeing a slight from her own perspective.

  ‘Where’s Axl?’ Gisila turned and directed this towards her servant, Gunni, who was silently preparing the beds for the evening.

  ‘I don’t know, my lady,’ came the nervous reply.

  Gisila glanced at her daughter. ‘He will have something to say about this, I’m sure.’

  Jael said nothing; her head was a mess of hot fury and building sorrow. She couldn’t keep up with her thoughts as they tumbled over one another, desperately seeking a way out of the hole that Lothar had so happily trapped her in. Running her hands distractedly through her long, dark hair, Jael frowned. She was far too old for marriage, or so she had believed until a few moments ago. Why would Eirik Skalleson want her for his son? How could this be happening? Now? After all this time?

  Pulling the hood up on her black, woollen cloak, she ducked through the door. ‘I will go to Edela. She’ll know what to do.’ She turned and left before her mother had even looked up.

  The wind whipped the door shut with such a bang that Gisila shuddered. Folding her arms across her chest to ward off the chill that had entered the cottage, she returned her gaze to the fire. There was nothing her mother could say that would stop this, she was certain. Lothar had found a way to remove Jael as a threat to his presence upon the throne. And with her gone, they would all be exposed, for she was their protector and Lothar knew it. Without her, they were weak and vulnerable, just as he wished. Gisila shivered and stared into the amber flames, tears running freely down her dispirited face.