Combatant

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

The heels of Jordan’s boots clicked against the hardwood floor of the foyer. There was a squeak as her toe depressed the loose floorboard. The sound of a crackling fire drew her to the parlor. It was an inviting sound, a comforting sound, given the maelstrom that whipped the leaves of the trees outside and threw pellets of rain against the glass of the windows.

Jordan paused in surprise. A strange dog was curled up on the carpet in front of the fire. A Greyhound, if she wasn’t mistaken—a racing breed with long limbs, powerful shoulders, and a long spine. He was curled into a ball with his back to her. White speckles dusted his ginger fur, and the fire threw his shadow long and soft against the carpet. The bones of his spine made a row of low mounds down his back. He was thin, this dog. The hallmark of his breed, she supposed.

The dog sensed Jordan’s approach and lifted his head, facing away from her, ears cocked. He got to his feet, slowly, stiffly, and padded in a small circle to face her. His jaw and mouth were dusted with gray; his once bright hazel eyes were milky with cataracts. A scar carved its way down the side of his face, just in front of his right ear. He had the noble face of the Greyhound breed, fine and sleek. As they looked at one another, Jordan gasped.

This Greyhound was her father, Allan.

The fire blew out.

A wisp of smoke drifted from the blackened logs and disappeared up the chimney. Outside, the gale of wind and rain screamed on like a coven of vengeful witches. The shadows of the room turned blue and cold. These were the evil, creeping shadows that lurk where light does not live.

Jordan shivered. “Dad?” She took a hesitant step forward. The Greyhound crossed the room on stiff hips and a limp. Jordan came to her knees, her heart pounding and her mouth with distress.

“Dad, don’t leave me.” Jordan’s voice trembled, and her eyes pricked with tears. She put her hands on the dog’s withers. The Greyhound drew close and  lifted a paw, resting it heavily on her knee. He whuffed out a sigh.

The Greyhound’s mind whispered to hers: I’m tired, Jordy. So tired.

“Dad, no. Don’t give up.” A tear tracked its way down Jordan’s cheek. “I’m coming for you.”

The Greyhound’s pink tongue licked the skin of Jordan’s chest, just under her left collarbone. She put her forehead against his. He licked her again, his tongue warm and slow.

“Dad, don’t leave me.”

He licked her again in the same place, just above her heart. But moisture ran from the lick, up into the hollow of Jordan’s throat, against gravity. The droplet turned cold and spilled over her neck and into her hair. Jordan
noticed only then that the hair at the nape of her neck was damp. She shivered.

“Jordan.” The Greyhound spoke in a woman’s voice, making her start.

Jordan flew awake like a small bird at the hoot of a Great-Horned Owl. She was panting, her neck wet, her eyes darting from side to side. Where am I?

“You were dreaming, Jordan.” The whisper came from a dark shadow bent over her. It was accompanied by the pressure of a warm hand on her shoulder.

The sounds of the gale were real. Rain drove and whipped across the portholes, the creaks and groans of wood shifting and timbers rubbing against one another cleared Jordan’s memory. Another cold drop struck her  below the collarbone and ran into her hair.

The ship.

She was still on the ship. It had been a dream. Just a dream. She exhaled in relief.

One of her wings jutted out awkwardly to the side. Her feathers trailed in the water that slid across the wooden boards of the cabin floor. The other wing she couldn’t feel, it had gone numb beneath her.

“Are you okay?” Eohne whispered, sitting in the hammock next to Jordan’s. “You were mumbling.”

Jordan wiped at her wet neck as another droplet fell from the ceiling and hit her just above her heart. She sat up, and three ratty old blankets fell away from her shoulders. “I dreamed my dad was a dog.” Jordan yanked her trapped wing from underneath her body, wincing as the blood rushed back into it and made the whole appendage tingle.

Eohne’s shadow was still as the Elf absorbed this. “How curious.”

“A racing animal,” Jordan explained, wiping her wet neck and chest with one of the blankets. She realized her face was also wet, but this moisture had come from her eyes. She swiped at them and the smell of moldy fabric made her pull back with a moue of disgust. “But the dog was old and stiff. His racing days were over.”

“Hmmmm.” Eohne made a contemplative sound.

The two women swayed back and forth with the rocking of the ship.

“Where’s Toth?” Jordan asked, searching for the Nycht.

“Up on deck.”

“In this weather?” Jordan pushed the pile of blankets aside and put her feet on the floor. She felt around in the dark for her boots. The floor was damp, downright splashy in some places. Vertigo swallowed her as the ship lurched and she gave a groan. “Nevermind, I get it.”

Jordan pulled on her boots and fumbled around her hammock for the long-sleeved leather jacket Eohne had purchased for her before they’d left Maticaw. Jordan loved it. It was specially made to accommodate her wings, lacing up underneath them so they could be free, yet keeping her back warm. Best of all, it was lined with something fuzzy and soft. Jordan hadn’t wanted to ask what kind of animal fur it was, if it was fur. She’d worked hard to reject Eohne’s buying her the jacket, but the Elf had insisted. Where they were going, it was going to be cold.

“Do you think we’re getting close?”

“We are. The fog is growing thick; that is a good sign, under the circumstances.”

“Creepy,” Jordan muttered, putting her arms into the jacket’s holes. The fabric draped over the tops of Jordan’s wings, and she turned so Eohne could lace the back of it closed above and below them. Jordan fastened the metal clasps that ran up the front and instantly felt warmer. She laced up her boots next.

The two women swung in the hammocks as the ship’s nose took a dive into a trough, sending their stomachs lurching. Loud voices from the deck of the ship yelled commands in a foreign tongue. Heavy footsteps ran overhead, waves slapped the hull, ropes were yanked and sails hoisted. The whole cacophony blended together in a tense soundtrack.

“Care to move somewhere more solid?” The Elf’s voice was strained as she gestured to a wooden shelf at the rear of the hold. It might have been used for storage, but it was currently empty. Eohne grabbed one of the blankets from Jordan’s bed and got up.

“Absolutely.” Jordan’s stomach flopped over as they staggered across the floor. Muscles in her back complained at having slept in a swinging hammock for several hours. She marvelled at how sailors could sleep in such uncomfortable beds for months at a time.

Eohne spread the blanket on the shelf, and the two women sat with their backs to the rear-wall, facing the bow of the lurching ship. The steps leading up to the deck were directly behind them. A couple of empty bottles rolled across the floor as the women settled themselves back and grasped the posts on either side of the shelf to help keep still.

The ship tilted and swayed. Jordan loosed a groan from deep in her gut.

“The Captain said this part of the Rodanian Sea is always rough. It’ll pass.”

Jordan turned her head away from Eohne and covered her mouth with her fingertips, wondering if she was going to lose her last meal. She breathed deep, and the nausea eased. She sat back, letting her head fall on Eohne’s shoulder. The Elf rested her own head on top of Jordan’s.

“Tell me again,” Jordan croaked. “Please? It’ll take my mind off of vomit.”

“Tell you…”

“About the rickshaws. I want to be thoroughly informed before we get to Trevilsom.”

“The Rakshaaks?”

Jordan grunted in agreement. “I can never remember the name.”

“Trevilsom Prison sits on an island surrounded by a dangerous sea,” Eohne began…