Anthologia: Eald Cearo: Short Tales, #1

By Lee Donoghue

For humankind strives in myriad ways.

In the dark world of Eald Cearo, the evils of men are compounded by malevolence at the edge of sight. All lives are touched by Sorrow, and yet there is also light in the dark, for hope brings out the best in humankind’s champions against struggle.

Anthologia is a collection of five short tales set in the world of Eald Cearo:

Finding Home

Outlaw, murderer, pariah: for Vess Baer they are titles earned, and now worn with regret. While outrunning his past, he has found love; a heart he can call home. 

Yet he must also learn that responsibility comes at a terrible cost, but one which must be met. 

Spirit Weaver

Ama Rhaldyek is a girl with little experience of life. She is thrust into a dire situation in which she must learn anew about herself and what it means to really live. 

She must choose her true purpose and the decisions she makes in a place of death will change her forever.

Family Creed

As an acolyte assassin of the Nizarishin, Noah Kalesso had seen his share of endings; his own traumatic past buried beneath the Creed.

He must make decisions which could shatter his identity and call into question his whole life’s meaning.

Desolate Hopes

Abel Balat cares nothing for life and seeks harm’s way at every chance, longing to hate others as much as he loathes himself.

In a bleak and gods forsaken ruin, the choices he makes will affect the rest of his life.

By Evil Means 

Immin Grada will do anything for the woman he loves and cares little of consequences.

Greed and arrogance lead him to a tomb where he finds that both hope and despair rest upon fine margins.

If you like dark fantasy short stories, you’ll love this 25,000-word collection because the battle against evil has only just begun. Pick up Anthologia today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adumbral Press
• Release date: Feb 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386480617

Book preview

Preface

When putting together this small collection of short tales, I had some definite aims I hoped to achieve. I wanted to create very short tales that you could read in one sitting, perhaps on a commute, coming to a new tale afresh whenever you had a snatch of time. I wanted the tales to be readable on their own, and yet also be the foundation for starting an adventure into the lives of some of the characters in future tales. I also wanted each tale to add to the world of Eald Cearo, and to complement the world being shaped in the Demon Forged novellas and the upcoming novels.

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Most of all, of course, I wanted to provide an entertaining read. I hope you find this collection as enjoyable to read as I did to write. I’d love to hear your thoughts on Eald Cearo and fantasy in general. Come say hello over at ealdcearo.com.

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Lee Donoghue

October 2017

Finding Home

Vess Baer raced through the coppice, looking like a madman as he swatted aside branches and brushwood. He stopped, straining to hear his prey over his laboured breathing. She was close, and he searched for some sign of her. Cassal Forest was quiet in the wake of their crashing chase; morning sunlight streamed in through the canopy and gave the place an ethereal quality. All was peaceful, the hunt paused. The calm before the storm, he thought.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced about, and then he caught the scarlet of her cloak ahead. Grinning through his whiskers, he launched himself forward once again. She would be his; there could be no escape. Nearly there, so close.

Crashing through the thicket, he made her out more clearly now: her eyes widened when she saw him coming, her pretty face contorted in surprise and shock. She turned, her black hair swirling all about as she raced away. You cannot run forever. She had kept up a spirited flight, he had to admit. Yet as his pursuit drew closer, she had come to the edge of the forest, and out into the great vale beyond. No place to hide; no chance of freedom. Nearly there, so close.

He charged after her, his legs pumping through the long grasses of summer. His veins throbbed, his muscles ached. She glanced back and shrieked: he was nearly on her. So close.

At the last moment he threw himself forward, grabbing her trailing leg and sending her down into the wildflowers. Before she could wriggle free, he straddled her heaving chest. She gasped as she looked into his eyes.

Then her face burst with laughter.

Between gulps of crisp valley air, Vess started laughing too. ‘I got you, Norah.’

‘I let you catch me, you know. You are not as fleet-footed as you like to think.’

‘Is that so?’ He was still breathing heavily. ‘Well I would be happy to give you a rematch… just as soon as the fire in my lungs has been doused.’

She laughed again and pulled him down into a kiss. For Vess, it was a perfect kiss on a golden day. He marvelled at how she made him forget his woes. She always lifted the regret from his heart.

He rolled over onto the prairie and stared up into the azure of the afternoon, watching as a butterfly flitted overhead. He did not want this to end. He had found his home; no more moving on. ‘We had better get back,’ she said to him at last, breaking summer’s spell.

As they walked, his thoughts drifted to the day his life changed, as they often did when he was with Norah. He had been a different man then, of course. Always looking for trouble until the day he found it.

His father had been a travelling apothecary, with the road becoming harder every year; villagers ever more wary of wanderers. When it became too dangerous, he had left Vess in Raylside for a time, but never returned.

A burden, an outsider. Vess had worked hard, even becoming a member of the village fold protecting Raylside. He was never truly one of them, yet he filled his heart with life there for it was all he had left.

On the tragic day when even that was lost to him, he had tried to tell himself that the taxes had pushed his village too far, that the war in the north cost them all too dear. Really, he had just wanted to show what a man he was. What a man I was, he snorted.

The royal tax collector had arrived late for the king’s dues at Raylside, and he had grabbed his chance at last. Offering to put the retinue up for the night, he had shared ale and soup with the bailiff, Reiss, and his guards. Yet he had tainted the fare with tonguelock; that much at least he had learnt from his father.

The following morning, Reiss had risen complaining of indigestion. ‘I think maybe we drank too much of my ale, Reiss,’ Vess had said, grimacing in sympathy with the tax collector, all the while his mood soaring.

‘I hope you are not angling for some favour for it,’ Reiss grumbled as he and his retinue clambered into their saddles. ‘The King’s Bailiff is his proxy. Your hospitality is expected.’

‘Of course, Bailiff.’ Vess bowed as his guests trotted out of Raylside like a funeral cortege. Once they had ridden out of sight into the wood, Vess smiled and followed. Soon they would understand the cost of his hospitality, and he wanted to reach them before someone else chanced upon them. He took to the trail, and found his step eager, his heart light. Times had been so hard for the village, and he could already picture the grateful faces of his fellows when he brought back their hard earned coin. How they would love him; how he would find a place in their hearts at last. They would be free.

By mid morning, Vess reached them. Their horses grazed on wild grasses at the trailside. The men were fallen in the dirt or sat against tree trunks. He had never seen the results of poison before: the pale tinge to their sweaty flesh, their swollen blue lips. Their expressions of agony, above all, would remain with him thereafter.

He approached cautiously, though he needn’t have worried: they were quite dead. He swiped a trembling hand across his brow and for the first time, he considered what he had done. Still, these men travelled the countryside robbing decent folk blind to pay for some far off war. They deserved what they got.

Making calming noises, he edged towards the horses. He grabbed the reins of Reiss’s grey, gently stroking its flank, whispering reassurances as he eyed the bulging saddlebags. He had done it, and the coin within was his gift to his people. Look what I have done for us. I have set us free; no more will we worry for the cold of winter.

Yet Vess worried greatly