Magic unfurled, p.1
Magic Unfurled, page 1
Magic Unfurled
The Interdimensional Magic Series
Book One
M.L. Ryan
Magic Unfurled
By M.L. Ryan
Copyright © 2020, M.L. Ryan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s warped imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by M.L. Ryan
For my boys ….
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
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Connect with M.L. Ryan
Additional books by M.L. Ryan
Chapter 1
My stomach grumbled at the first sniff of freshly baked bread. If only I had coins to pay for a loaf. No one in Dekankara had much—except for the warlords—and stealing was considered an offense of the worst sort. Also except for the warlords—they stole anything they wanted with few consequences.
When venturing into a town or village, I’d usually rummage through the spoiled bits of what the merchants tossed away, but it was still too early for scraps. My last meal was a handful of wild greens I’d found in the woods the day before. Or was it two days ago? The ache in my gut and the aroma of that damn bread were beginning to muddle my brain. I knew taking something that didn’t belong to me was wrong. Dangerous, too, but the enticing scent from the bakery seduced away any lingering caution.
As I peered around the corner of a neighboring shop, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t get me thrown in a dungeon or killed, a bald man wearing a well-worn and blood-stained apron yelled at me from the doorway of a nearby butcher shop.
“You, boy! Get away from there.”
The mistake was common. By design, in fact. Women were treated worse than anyone in this lawless world. As such, I did everything possible to perpetuate the illusion of being male. It helped that I was tall for a female, and women never wore trousers. Coupled with the fabric bindings that kept my breasts flattened against my chest and that I kept my long red hair tucked inside a cap, people rarely identified my true gender, particularly from afar.
How Baldy knew I was up to no good was unclear, but now that he’d spotted me, I needed to find another place to plot the theft. Crossing the street, I entered an alley which offered a reasonable view of the bakery’s front window and hid me from the prying eyes of the butcher. From there, the baker’s routine became clear. Every so often, he disappeared into the back of the shop for a few minutes, leaving his wares unattended. I had no idea what he might be doing—checking an oven, perhaps—but the regularity of his actions gave me the opening I’d hoped for. Kya, I congratulated myself, this is your lucky day.
Focused on some particularly delicious-looking loaves piled atop a table not too far from the door, the next time he vanished, I strode toward the store. Unfortunately, so did two men from the opposite direction. The taller one, wearing a stained shirt and well-worn breeches, leaned against the open doorframe and scrutinized the street, while the shorter of the two scooted inside and stuffed six loaves under his similarly grimy but oversized tunic. As he walked out past the lookout, both took a few normal steps, then ran down the alley across from mine. Impressive as the quickness and efficiency of the heist was, they’d ruined any chance of me grabbing any of the precious merchandise. And did the greedy bastards really need three loaves apiece?
I crossed the street and climbed onto the roof of a building along the narrow passage where they’d fled, still annoyed at my abrupt change of fortune. Peering down into the alley, there they sat, but now the gang included a third man, all tearing into their loaves. I wondered how the freeloader got the others to do all the work—and if the untouched loaves were still warm—when the sound of pounding hooves reverberated from the street.
Curious about the ruckus, I hurried along the roof toward the clatter. Scores of men on horseback were galloping by, forcing the townsfolk to run—some screaming—into the buildings for some semblance of safety. In front of the bakery, a horse almost ran over an old woman who picked the wrong time to cross the roadway, then its rider smacked her with the hilt of his gleaming sword when she couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. She crumbled into the dirt, not moving, her head a bloody mess.
There was no mistaking what was happening. A warlord’s raid.
I retreated from the carnage, hunching down to avoid detection, but could still hear the attack squad ordering merchants to give them what was owed for protection. Of course, the only protection the shopkeepers needed was from the men demanding payment, but I supposed irony was lost on warlords and their men. From experience, I knew what would happen if the shopkeepers didn’t hand over both money and goods—death, and likely not a swift one. I chastised myself for entering a village this large. I rarely crossed paths with raiders in less populated ones.
As I jumped off the roof, a caught a glimpse of a warrior dragging a woman into the opposite end of the alley. When he reached a group of large, wooden barrels, he flung her onto the ground behind them. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I didn’t have to. His feral grunts and her terrified wails were unmistakable.
Men, particularly men with swords, had license to do whatever they wanted, especially to women. The lack of consequences for such appalling behavior was my main reason for pretending to be a boy. Not that it meant I was completely safe—some preferred to violate boys—but most of such behavior was perpetrated against females. While the attack incensed me, fear prevented me from intervening. I was only one person with just enough defensive skills and cunning to keep myself alive in a world where those with magic—like the warlords and many of their soldiers—held all the power.
The bakery thieves and their friend, who had also gone to check out the mayhem in the street, returned to the alley and their loaves. It wasn’t their lack of intervention that made my blood boil—just like me, they’d be fools to do so—but their cavalier attitude toward the rampage, even joking about the agonizing sounds of the woman being violated only a half block away.
Bastards, I seethed. The swine were no better than the soldiers.
Another scream—this time from the street—distracted them. When they scurried over to see what gore and destruction they were missing, I scooped up the closest hunk of a partially eaten loaf and hightailed it back up the roof. I planned to disappear before they noticed, but they weren’t as stupid as they appeared. Although, to be fair, they probably wouldn’t be able to combine words into coherent sentences if they were.
All three followed me onto the roof, as if I’d stolen everything that they owned instead of a small portion of the bread they’d just filched. Fortunately, I was fast and nimble, and figured I’d lose them as soon as I leapt from one roof to the next.
To my dismay, they were angry and tenacious, and vaulted across right behind me.
***
The blade of a rusty sword parted the bushes under which I’d taken refuge.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” one of my pursuers drawled.
They’d been chasing me for miles through rough terrain. The pursuit wasn’t completely unexpected—I’d stolen from them, after all—but its duration was. No one was that persistent over a partial loaf of bread. So focused on grabbing the food, I hadn’t even noticed weapons when they came after me. Convinced I’d finally lost the assholes, I crawled under some thick shrubs to give my weary legs a break, just in case they hadn’t given up.
Obviously, they hadn’t.
“I think it’s a girl,” a second voice announced.
I could only see the jerk with the weapon, the lookout during the heist. I had no idea if the other guy was the thief or the lazy leech, or even if all three had come this far.
The sword wielder reached down with his free hand, grabbed my arm, and yanked. “Let’s have a better look.”
There was no use resisting. I might be able to handle a single assailant, but even two was a stretch, and I certainly couldn’t fight them cowering under the brush.
Now standing, I realized just how bad the situation was. All three stood leering at me, all armed with the crudely made swords favored by the various gangs of bandits who plagued the countryside. Raiders and crooks. Must be my lucky day. Their weapons might have been of poor quality, but experience taught me they were still plenty sharp.
I surveyed the trio of malevolent pricks who now surrounded me and thought dejectedly, I am so screwed.
Literally, most likely, judging by the lecherous glee in their eyes.
Think, Kya. You’ve been in worse spots than this.
Even with two knives hidden beneath my loose-fitting trousers and better-than-fair weapon skills, I was outnumbered. Plus, I lacked the extra couple feet of reach their swords provided them. The odds weren’t good.
Number Two—the freeloader—pulled off my cap, and my hair fell around my shoulders. “It is a girl. A skinny one, but definitely a girl.”
Guy Three sheathed his sword, unbuckled the leather scabbard, and tossed it on the ground. “I stole the bread, I’m first,” he announced, striding toward me while loosening the waistband of his pants.
I took a step backward, but the bushes prevented another. The thief grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me down, hard. While my back took most of the impact, my head smacked against the rocky ground. Despite the pain and flashes of bright light clouding my vision, I kicked at him, but he was strong and quickly pinned me beneath him.
One of the others called out, “Hey, Loftu, you need some help?” and then laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever uttered.
Loftu apparently didn’t share their amusement. He drew back his hand and slapped me across the face.
Son of a bitch. And I thought my head hurt before.
“We can do this easy or hard, your choice,” he snarled, his face now inches from mine.
His putrid breath made me gag. Or maybe I had a concussion. Either way, I wasn’t about to let the smelly pervert and his equally detestable sidekicks rape me without putting up a fight.
I let myself go limp, signaling I’d chosen the easy option, and Loftu took the bait. As he eased off my legs, I grabbed the knife strapped to my right ankle and slashed at the nearest body part. Unfortunately for my assailant, he’d just pulled out his cock and I’d honed my blade that morning. Loftu shrieked and rolled away from me, clutching at his crotch to staunch the blood already staining his trousers a bright red.
The other men stood motionless, staring in horror at their writhing friend and the chunk of his member I’d managed to slice off in the dirt beside him. Figuring their paralysis wouldn’t last, I leapt to my feet, releasing the second knife from its holster as I rose. The sudden change in position made the throbbing in my head exponentially worse. I swayed just as One and Two regained their composure and advanced toward me, their swords at the ready.
It seemed likely, given my inability to run or see clearly, that I was going to die. Probably after being violated in ways I didn’t know were physically possible. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I focused on the handles of their weapons and willed them to ignite. Much to my surprise, the swords fell from their grips. They weren’t aflame, but had I managed to make them unbearably hot? That explanation didn’t explain why both men dropped silently to their knees, however. Or the bolt jutting out of the freeloader’s neck.
I stumbled toward them, both now sprawled face down in the dirt. A few inches of shaft protruded from the center of One’s back, the arrow having been forced through as he fell forward. Confusion rattled through my already fuzzy brain. My magic was unpredictable at best, and while I was somewhat confident that I affected their weapons in some way, conjuring deadly projectiles was something altogether different. Did I do that?
Maybe it was the head injury, or my continued befuddlement over my newfound ability to magically take out my attackers, but I’d completely forgotten about the third guy. As I glanced over at him, an arrow whizzed past my head. With a resounding thwunk, it pierced the flesh of his chest. The persistent thrashing and moaning I’d somehow tuned out suddenly stopped.
Quite sure I hadn’t produced the last bolt—and likely not the others, either—I dropped to my stomach, uncertain what had happened but knowing I didn’t want to end up like the dead men. The sound of horses and people running enveloped the clearing. How the hell had I missed horses?
Heavy strides pressed into the soft dirt until a pair of boots appeared close to my face. “Are you hurt?”
The voice accompanying the leather footwear was deep, soothing and I really hoped whoever just saved me had good intentions. Between my pounding head and the energy drain of trying to magic up a failed defense, I was in no shape to fight another band of criminals.
Slowly rolling onto my back, I looked up at the largest man I’d ever laid eyes on. Of course, anyone probably seemed massive when viewed from the ground, but this guy was huge. Dark skinned, tall, and well-muscled. From my disadvantaged point, I couldn’t really see his face well, but I thought he might be smiling.
The giant crouched, his beefy hands resting on leather leggings. “Are you hurt?” he repeated.
“I’m okay,” I mumbled, pushing myself to something vaguely resembling sitting up. Pleased the movement hadn’t made my skull throb any worse, I attempted to stand.
Bad idea.
“Easy there, you are injured,” he said, rising to grab my arm as I swayed. “Hylpa, get Stip.”
The Big Guy and Hylpa and Stip—whoever they were—might only have my best interests in mind, but seven years navigating the Dekankaran countryside on my own suggested quite the opposite. I’d learned the hard way that life was cheap and safety mostly nonexistent. While happy they got rid of my attackers, they did kill them, after all. Quickly and skillfully. This couldn’t be the first time they’d dispatched people. Better to let them go on their way.
“Really, I’m fine,” I lied. “I just need to rest a bit.”
“How many fingers do I have up?”
I stared at where I thought my rescuer’s hand might be, but honestly, my vision was blurred. “Two,” I replied as definitively as I could, but it was only a guess.
“I wasn’t holding any up,” he snickered. “We will take you to a healer.”
The inner voice that always kept me out of trouble warned me not to go with these strangers. Of course, it was the same inner voice that hadn’t warned me not to steal bread from a bunch of thugs, so maybe it wasn’t as useful as I thought.
Without waiting for an answer, The Big Guy scooped me into his arms and stood. I leaned my aching head against his shoulder, and now that I wasn’t holding it up on my own, it hurt a whole lot less. I knew I should protest but the modicum of relief overcame my sense of self-preservation. After a few steps he halted in front of a large, four-legged blob. I couldn’t see the animal clearly, but it smelled like a horse.
“If I lift you onto the saddle, can you stay upright until I get on behind you?”
Probably not. “Sure,” I responded, hoping bravado might make it so.
I must not have been as convincing as I intended, because The Big Guy transferred me into someone else’s arms, swung onto the horse, and had me placed in front of him. The dizzying change of position made me careen forward, and only his gentle grip on the back of my shirt prevented a face plant into the horse’s inky mane.
“You might have overstated your ability to remain vertical.”
I couldn’t see his face, but once again his voice suggested amusement. If my skull didn’t already feel as if it were being crushed in a vise, I’d have backward head-butted the butt head for making fun of me. Instead, I did the next best thing given the circumstances. I leaned back into him and promptly lost consciousness.
***
When I finally came to, I awoke with a start, wondering why the pungent aroma of sweat—both equine and man—mingled in my nose. Then I remembered. Oh yeah, I was stupid and got attacked, and even stupider for letting a crack-shot stranger and his gang whisk me off on horseback.
“You’re still alive,” the deep voice behind me observed.
“Regrettably,” I grumbled, taking stock of the throbbing in my brain that hadn’t appreciably subsided. “How long was I out?” It must have been a while; the sun had set.
“Long enough for you to drool all over my arm.”
There was that teasing tone again. I still didn’t like it.
“About three hours,” he continued. “We’re almost there.”
I wanted to ask where “there” was but the few words I’d spoken added nausea to my headache. Instead of engaging in more useless conversation, I took deep breaths and settled back into The Big Guy. While days in early spring tended toward pleasantly cool, at night the temperature plummeted. TBG’s body radiated heat, an added benefit of riding with him. When burning pine obliterated the musky scent of man and beast, I had my answer.
