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    Grimm's Love
    Grimm's Love
    Grimm's Love
    Ebook261 pages4 hours

    Grimm's Love

    By Kenneth McDonald

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    About this ebook

    Retired Border Warden Eldwen Grimm lives a quiet life, alone with his regrets. He has spent a long career in service to Sacreth and the Order of Mages that rules it, but his own life has been a story of personal disaster. First he lost his consort, assassinated by Sokhali war mages during the Danalb Incursion. Then his daughter vanished without trace in the final running of the Labyrinth competition at the University of Sacreth. Grimm has put up his sword, but his retirement is interrupted when a student mage comes to him with a wild theory and a dangerous hope. Grimm must confront the magic he has long feared on a desperate rescue mission into the Labyrinth. What’s at stake, he learns, is more than just one life.

    “Grimm’s Love” is the final novel in a trilogy about the life and times of Eldwen Grimm, Border Warden of Sacreth. The book is also part of the “Mages of Sacreth” series, which includes the novella “The Labyrinth,” and the novel “Of Spells and Demons.”

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKenneth McDonald
    Release dateAug 2, 2013
    ISBN9781301566327
    Grimm's Love
    Author

    Kenneth McDonald

    I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

    Read more from Kenneth Mc Donald

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      Book preview

      Grimm's Love - Kenneth McDonald

      Grimm’s Love

      Book Three of the Grimm Trilogy, Part of the Mages of Sacreth Series

      Kenneth McDonald

      Kmcdonald4101@gmail.com

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2013 by Kenneth McDonald

      Cover Credit: The cover illustration is taken from the painting Under the Trees (1865) by Thomas Moran. The image is in the public domain.

      * * * * *

      Works by Kenneth McDonald

      Wizard’s Shield

      The Mages of Sacreth

      The Labyrinth

      Of Spells and Demons

      Grimm’s War

      Grimm’s Loss

      Grimm’s Love

      The Godswar Trilogy

      Paths of the Chosen

      Choice of the Fallen

      Fall of Creation

      Daran’s Journey

      Heart of a Hero

      Soul of a Coward

      Will of a Warrior

      Courage of a Champion

      * * * * *

      Chapter 1

      The University of Sacreth occupied an expansive campus that sprawled out along a wide bend of the Roe River. The institution’s collection of majestic whitestone halls was placed within a carefully planned landscape of carefully manicured lawns, tree-lined walks, and stone walls covered with creeping ivy. The layout of the university had been planned by men who had wanted to create a testament to the power and prestige of Sacreth, and little expense had been spared in that effort. Even the subsequent additions that had followed in the years since the establishment of the school had been considered with careful attention to how they would affect the presentation of the whole.

      The University was a complex organism, with as many secrets beneath its noble exterior as the many souls that gathered to make it work. It was impossible for any one man to know all of those secrets, but the young man who emerged from one of the recessed basement entries of Avellin Hall and sprinted up the steps into the sunlight came closer than most. Galend Jarol seemed to radiate a sense of barely-contained energy. He was young but comfortably past his awkward teens. His dark brown mop of hair was a bit disheveled and he had a hint of a shadow on his cheeks that said he’d forgotten to shave that morning, but his careless grooming only accentuated his strong build and rugged features. His most notable feature was his eyes, which were a piercing emerald green that took on a particular edge when he focused them on something.

      Galend seemed anything but focused at that moment, however. He wore the half-robe-over-trousers that was as close to a uniform as one encountered at the University, but it was almost as ruffled as his hair, and one of his shoes had come untied, the lace flapping behind him as he hurried along the path that led south from the sprawl of Avellin. The students called it Caterpillar Hall due to the twisting add-ons that had made it one of the campus’s largest buildings, but Galend’s errand took him away from the Quadrangle and the whitestone structures that surrounded it. He moved quickly, not quite running but going fast enough to cause a couple of young female students to quickly step off the path and out of his way. He noticed them only when he was well past, and shot them an apologetic nod before turning his attention back to where he was going. The women looked at each other and shared a laugh before continuing on their way.

      The path ran past a line of squat bunker-like buildings, constructed of granite slabs that looked like they had been fashioned together by giants. They had doors made of iron deeply recessed into narrow openings in their stone faces, giving them a slightly menacing look, but Galend did not spare them even a glance. The path ahead wound down into a wooded dell, the neat lawns and even neater patches covered in flowers and wood chips replaced by a more natural density of trees and bushes. The cobbled path was replaced by packed earth, but the landscape was no less tended for that; it was an illusion of a forest glen, not the reality.

      The miniature forest followed the path of a tiny creek that wound through its center. Normally Galend took his time when he walked along the paths that wound over and around Mossberry Creek. It was a pleasant place to visit, the trees and thick undergrowth offering a buffer against the busyness of the surrounding campus. But the young student skipped the side paths that led along the length of the creek and instead took the carved wooden steps that led down to the water. There was a wooden bridge there, a considerable affair built of thick wooden planks laid over trimmed logs a hand’s span thick. It was probably unnecessary, since the water was all of a stride’s length across at that point, but it fit in with the overall effect of carefully trimmed and tended nature that was part of the landscape of the University.

      There was a sign posted beside the trail on the far side of the bridge. It was unusual in that it consisted of a plate of polished steel an arm’s length square, attached to a pair of thick wooden posts driven into the muddy ground. Words were etched into the metal, clearly visible despite the deep shadows under the trees.

      WELCOME TO THE YARD, it read.

      As Galend came up to it he saw that someone had appended a message in black letters underneath.

      INTRUDERS WILL BE PUT TO WORK IN THE MINES, the addendum warned.

      Galend shook his head in amusement, but as he looked up at the opening ahead where the path emerged on the far side of the wooded strip he heard sounds that gave him pause. They sounds were familiar, a clack of wood on wood, followed a moment later by the ring of metal striking metal. A shout rang out, the collective noise of a dozen voices expressing approval.

      Together the sounds indicated that he was even later than he had thought, but he lingered there a moment. His hands clenched at his side. His hesitation was brief, but it looked as though it took an effort for him to move his feet forward again along the path.

      He emerged on the edge of a vast open space that was only about halfway filled by a large complex of interconnected buildings. An earthen berm formed a backdrop, curving around the area; that was the levy, as the Yard was located right on the river. The woods of Mossberry Creek formed a second wall that extended behind him until it connected to a careful gap in the levy that allowed the waterway to exit into the river. To his left a stone wall half again his height formed the third part of the triangle that penned in the Yard.

      Of all the places at the University, Galend had visited the Yard the least, but its sights and sounds and smells were instantly distinctive. The glow coming from the Forge seemed bright even in the afternoon sunlight, though the busy sounds coming from within matched it for intensity. It looked like only a handful of people were working there. The question of why was answered a moment later as another loud roar sounded over the curving wall of the building attached to the Forge’s south wall. At that sound Galend hustled forward again. Broad stairs led up into a gap in the wall, flanked by doorways that led into the building itself. A first year was on sentry duty there and he stood to attention as Galend approached. He was dressed in the full panoply of a soldier from one of the war sagas that were perennially popular amongst young men, right down to the curved iron breastplate, greaves on shins and forearms, and a tall spear tipped by a swollen steel point. The sentry looked Galend over as he approached; he saw the youth’s eyes flick to his waist and the plain silver buckle that shone there on his belt, saw the brief moment of confusion before his eyes flicked back up.

      Welcome to the Yard, sir, he said. Your name and business?

      Mage Galend Jarol, Galend said. Here for the testing. I haven’t missed it, have I?

      Oh, no, sir, they’re just in the preliminaries, the sparring bouts. Know someone testing today?

      Indeed I do. As he spoke a polite sound of applause drifted down from above. May I?

      The sentry nodded. Go right in, sir. He looked as though he would much rather have gone in with him, but he gamely turned back to his post as Galend made his way up the smooth stone steps.

      At the top the stairs emerged onto the lip of an open space ringed by raised tiers populated with embedded wooden benches. It was an arena, if a rather modest one, the dirt circle in the center only about twenty paces across. A mage wearing a breastplate and carrying a short wooden staff was directing a quartet of students in sparring gear off the field and into one of the tunnels that led into the interior. One of the students was limping, and other held his nose where Galend could clearly see the blood that trickled down his face.

      Galend, over here!

      He turned toward the spectators spread out upon the lower tiers on the edge of the arena. They were fewer than the sounds he’d heard before had suggested, maybe thirty in all, scattered in clusters. Most looked to be of the sort that had been down in the arena, fit youths—mostly men, but with a few women here and there—with toned bodies visible under their light sleeveless tunics. More than a few carried weapons, though most were wooden training gear rather than real steel.

      The man who’d called out to him wore a half-robe rather than training garb, and carried nothing more deadly than a sandwich that he was wolfing down in eager bites. He waved an elbow at Galend as he came up, and slid over to make room for him even though there was plenty of space to sit. For all the gusto with which he attacked his meal he was rail thin, his narrow waist surrounded by a belt like Galend’s save its buckle, which had been shaped into the design of a multifaceted gemstone.

      Thought you’d miss it, the gem mage said, grinning through a mouthful of meat and bread. You’re lucky, she’d be pissed if you forgot again.

      I was… delayed, but I’m here, Galend said. Is she next?

      Think so. You missed some pretty good running about and smacking. Though you don’t like that, right?

      Galend shot his companion a hard look. I wasn’t aware that the steel mages were hosting a luncheon, Pel.

      Pel waved the sandwich sagely. A wise man plans ahead. Let me guess, you got immersed in a research project and forgot to eat lunch.

      Galend didn’t say anything and the other man laughed loudly. A few of the students on the other benches shot them cold looks, but none of them said anything. None wore the silver buckles, and there were certain protocols of rank that were observed at the University.

      After a moment Pel poked Galend with his elbow. Hey, I think she’s coming out.

      The figure that materialized out of the shadows of one of the tunnels was small and slender, and at first glance one might have mistaken her for a child. But as she stepped into the light it was clear first that this was no girl, and second that she wasn’t a native of Sacreth. Her skin had a bronze tint to it, and she was clad differently than the other students, with a light garment of brown cloth wrapping her upper body and loose leggings over her legs. Together they covered her from throat to wrists to ankles, though she walked barefoot over the packed earth of the arena. Her hair was cut short even by the standards of the Yard, what little there was a few shades darker than her tunic. She carried a sword that was almost as big as she was, the bare steel balanced over one shoulder as she strode forward. She bowed to the armsmaster, transferring the heavy blade to her other shoulder as she did so. As she straightened her eyes drifted out over the watching crowd. Her lips twitched slightly as she saw Pel and Galend, but otherwise her expression might have been a mask.

      That’s our girl, Pel said, finishing his sandwich with a final heroic bite. Go Hylatha! he yelled through a full mouth, the food rather muffling the effect.

      Galend didn’t respond. He was watching the other students, weighing their reaction as the senior mage below turned toward the dark archway opposite the student and raised his hand. Galend hadn’t seen the earlier sparring contests, but he suspected that their welcomes to the other students had been different than the almost sullen silence with which they’d watched her entry. The disapproval coming from them was like something almost palpable to Galend’s senses; he didn’t need a Delving to feel it.

      His eyes shifted back to the small figure who stood alone in the center of the arena as the armsmaster retreated back to the arbiter’s platform at its far edge. The young woman seemed as calm and intent as she had when she’d entered the arena, but Galend could read the slight tension in her stance. She twisted the sword in her hands, turning over the blade before settling it again into place on her shoulder.

      The attention of everyone watching was drawn to the dark archway as a loud thump echoed from within the tunnel. The sound was repeated again and again, accompanied by an odd metallic clanking that sounded like the workings of some not-quite-broken mechanism. Pel shot an expectant look at Galend, but his gaze was focused on the dark opening, and he didn’t notice.

      And then the source of the sounds came into view.

      At first glance it looked like a warrior clad in full plate armor, albeit one a little thick around the middle. Every inch of him was covered in metal, up to the full helmet that bent around his face, the seams overlapping so tightly that only a tiny slit in the front was left. He carried as a weapon a long, thick slab of wood that looked more like a boat’s oar than a sword, but in his hands it looked no less menacing.

      Hylatha stood facing the newcomer. She had to look up; he wasn’t quite twice her height, but nor was he too far off that mark. Galend tore his gaze away from the metal man back to her, but while she was clearly expectant, her feet shuffling slightly in the dirt, she didn’t show any of the sudden dread that had awakened quite clearly in his own guts.

      "Now that, that is cool," Pel said.

      The armored figure took a step forward, then another. Any pretense that they might have still had that there was a man inside that cumbersome suit evaporated with those first few movements. The thing was just too… solid, and the way it moved, its steps ponderous yet powerful, was too artificial. Galend could feel the power that infused it, the pattern of magical currents somehow both delicate and durable at the same time.

      The construct shook the ground with the tread of its heavy feet. It moved straight toward the young woman, its paddle-blade coming around in a broad sweep. She made no move to avoid its charge, and Galend could felt his heart pounding in his chest as it bore down on her.

      She waited until it seemed too late, and when she moved it was almost as though she went from stationary to full motion with no step in between. The wooden sword of the metal man caught only empty air, and as its momentum carried its arms around she darted in and swept her own heavy blade hard against its side. The impact struck a loud clang that echoed off the walls of the arena. The construct was clearly as awkward as a man would have been in such heavy armor, but it was also strong, a fact proven as it planted a foot and swept its weapon around in a one-handed backswing. Hylatha sprang back and brought her sword up, deflecting the stroke high and wide, but even that glancing impact was enough to fling her back several steps. She landed with a spin that absorbed her momentum. She transferred her sword from one hand to the other, shaking out the sting in her wrists as the magical soldier trudged forward to engage her again.

      They met like that several times, the girl dodging the construct’s powerful swings, her own counters delivering solid strokes but not doing any apparent damage against its thickly protected frame. Galend could see that it was taking all of her effort to wield the heavy broadsword, the weapon’s bulk only hindering her when she had to use it to parry its blows.

      She clearly knew what she was doing, but the outcome of the contest seemed foreordained. Even as she sprang back from another aborted exchange Galend heard laughter from one of the lower benches. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but in a moment of quiet before the construct started trudging toward her again he clearly heard the words, Novrenar wench.

      Galend hadn’t realized that he’d risen until he felt Pel’s hand on his wrist. He looked down at his friend, who shook his head. Easy, now.

      None of the students had seen him; chagrined, he sat back down. But he sprang back up again as Hylatha took a parry too hard. The impact knocked the sword out of her hands, the heavy metal slab flying across the arena. She staggered back, off-balance, and while she saw the next attack coming and tried to evade, she could not fully avoid a stinging hit that smacked into her shoulder and knocked her roughly to the ground.

      The construct could have delivered a finishing blow then, but it took a step back, its sword coming up into a defensive stance. The armsmaster lifted his hand, but the injured girl slashed hers out in a negating gesture, growling something that Galend couldn’t decipher but which was nevertheless clear in its intent. The steel mage let his hand drop and the metal man came forward again, its sword sweeping low as if to scoop her off the ground and hurl her into the stands.

      It never got the chance; Hylatha rolled and sprang back up to her feet, grimacing as the maneuver stressed her injured shoulder. Again she dodged back, drawing the construct after her. Unarmed it was unclear what if anything she could hope to gain, but instead of circling back around to her sword, she reached behind her back and drew out a knife.

      Knife might have been too conservative a word, Galend thought. The blade was easily the length of his arm from elbow to fingertips, and it was thicker than a typical dagger, curving to a slight hook at the end. He had seen it before, close-up, and knew it well. It was a Novrenar hook-knife, one of the distinctive weapons of the tribesmen that lived in the wild hill country beyond Sacreth’s mountainous southern border. From the noticeable gasps that came from the students below they had recognized it too.

      The magical construct appeared less impressed by its opponent’s change of weapon. Released from whatever restraint the armsmaster had placed upon it, it lurched forward again, sweeping its blade around as it came. This time it brought its sword around low so that she could not duck under it, but instead of trying to dodge she ran straight toward her foe. It shifted, trying to adjust, but before it could hit her she snapped the hook up into the crook of its right elbow. Galend’s eyes widened in surprise as Hylatha jammed her feet hard against its iron boot and swung her body around, her entire weight dangling from the pivot point of the tip of her sword. She came so close to the ground that he thought that the edges of her tunic brushed the dirt. He recognized what she was doing as the construct was pulled off balance. It had to outweigh her by a factor of five or six, but she had executed the maneuver perfectly. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as the construct teetered precariously, its upper body leaning at a steep angle. Galend stared at its back foot as it rose up off the ground, just slightly, a finger’s thickness, then two.

      But he’d underestimated the solidity of the thing, and as Hylatha finished her sweep the construct settled back down with a thump. It straightened again and swept its sword decisively around in a short chopping motion that would not be evaded.

      But again the young woman warrior was not where she should have been. She’d

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