Fabled (Fabled Hunters Book 1) Read online

  We could become legendary. Fabled.

  Silvan

  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

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Jack

  About the Author

  Silvan

  Could she be the one? The one I need? I’ve been watching her for some time. I am almost convinced. She’s kind, clever, and unrivaled with the bow; an outward manifestation of her Gift. I’ve never met anyone with this much potential since Glacia.

  No. I shake my head, pushing thoughts of Glacia away. She must be dead to me, dead to my heart.

  The faint rays of dawn lighten the sky and like she so often did, the young woman tiptoes out of the house, quietly closing the door behind her. She doesn't want to wake her mother. She also wants to avoid early morning chores. I grin, watching her. Was I ever so young and carefree? I can't remember, but when I watch her, I can pretend I do.

  She clambers over the home’s low fence and strides confidently down the town’s small road, pulling the red hood of her cloak up, no doubt to ward off the morning chill. It’s nearly spring, and warm for late winter, but the mornings are still frosty.

  I stand from where I’d been hiding behind some fish barrels and follow her on silent feet. She’s done this enough times that she no longer looks for danger. Foolish. I frown at her back. She has potential, but is still proud. Pride makes one careless. Carelessness can get one killed.

  Walking down the dirt road takes us by the shore. Most of the fishermen have already left in their small boats, but a few stragglers are preparing to leave. A handful of men wave in greeting as she passes and she waves back. She is a common sight this early in the morning.

  After passing the fishing vessels she pauses, picking up a shell. She looks at it a moment then throws it across the water, watching it disappear into the rolling waves. She begins walking again, quicker this time, as if eager to escape the prying eyes of the other villagers. I smile, watching her as she leaves the path and crosses across the meadow. I know where she’s going.

  The forest looms before her, black in the dim light. Most of the villagers fear it, only entering it when necessary. But to her, it’s a haven.

  The girl breaks into a run, as if eager to be sheltered under the eaves of the woods.

  I break into a light jog. I’m not worried about losing her in the forest, but I know better than anyone that danger lurks there. I swallow, feeling a stab of regret in my chest.

  I’m the danger.

  I step on a branch and it cracks, startlingly loud in the stillness. I drop to the ground, hiding myself from view. The girl hears it. She turns, nocking an arrow to her bow with practiced ease.

  I peer at her through the grass, holding my breath. Her chocolate-brown eyes are narrowed as she watches for danger. I grimace. If she were to see me, she wouldn’t shoot. She wouldn't see me for the monster I am. She’d see an angel.

  Deciding she’s safe, she turns and ventures deeper into the woods, still holding her bow. I continue to follow her, careful not to make a sound.

  She’s walking toward the river. This is different. She usually heads to her secret spot, a wooded clearing that feels sheltered and safe to her. I chew the inside of my cheek. What is she up to?

  She approaches the river. The water rushes along, its banks overflowing with the mountain’s melting snow. A rabbit scampers out of its burrow, bounding away from her. Isabelle aims, but hesitates a moment too long and it scampers to safety. I laugh silently to myself. She’s trying to hunt. This is new.

  Then I hear it.

  A siren.

  The voice beckons from the river, lilting and eerie in its melody. The girl jerks her head up, turning to the voice. She drops her bow with nerveless fingers, her quiver sliding off her shoulder to land in a heap.

  She’s caught in the siren’s spell.

  No. No! I leap from behind the tree where I was lurking and sprint toward her. I have to protect her. I am immune to the siren’s voice. I am immune to the river’s rushing waters. Immune to the cold.

  But there is one thing I am not immune to. In one way I am laid bare.

  Isabelle.

  I cannot lose her.

  1

  The voice called to her, melodic and haunting in its song. It compelled her to follow. To obey. To refuse was as unthinkable as trying to hold her breath indefinitely. She had to follow it, regardless of where it took her.

  Isabelle walked to the river, heedless of its roar, ignoring the jagged clumps of ice that were propelled along in its current. The voice was in the river. It called to her, commanding her to jump. She had to obey. She had to.

  “Isabelle. Isabelle, wait!” a male voice cried out, voice cracking with urgency.

  Isabelle leaped into the river, plunging into its icy depths.

  She gasped as the freezing cold water flooded her vision, her mouth, her nose. She kicked and flailed her limbs, trying to fight her way back to the surface. The river swept her along, heedless of its captive, the current impossibly strong with an early thaw.

  A female swam beside her, a thin woman with midnight-black hair. She grabbed Isabelle, her smile revealing fangs.

  A siren.

  Isabelle struggled against the siren’s grip, trying to get away. The siren pulled her underwater.

  Isabelle saw a flash of silver in her peripheral vision as something massive hit the river, entering the frigid waters. The siren released Isabelle, swimming away.

  Isabelle’s head broke the surface and she gasped, gulping down air before the water yanked her under again. I’m going to die.

  Why? Why was she here? Why had she stepped into the water? She couldn’t remember. The only thing she could recall was a voice that called to her. Ignoring it had not been an option. The siren was gone now, but Isabelle was alone, unable to swim to safety.

  Her red cloak tangled about her body, becoming heavy as it soaked up water, dragging her down as she tried to swim to the river’s edge. The current pulled her back to the center of the flow. A large chunk of ice hurtled past her, causing Isabelle to flinch away from it, temporarily pulled under the water once more.

  Isabelle’s heart hammered in her chest, as she broke surface and paddled once more. She was exhausted. Her limbs felt as heavy as iron and her body began to weaken from lack of oxygen and the cold.

  A strong arm gripped her around the waist. Isabelle thrashed against it, screaming. Cold river water poured into her mouth. She tried to twist around, to see her captor as she was pulled to the riverbank. Turning toward the bank she reached out, desperately grabbing at fistfuls of grass to pull herself out of the river. It turned out to be unnecessary as her captor hauled her out of the water, only releasing her waist once the two of them collapsed on the riverbank.

  Isabelle coughed, spewing water as she lay on her side. She felt frozen with
the wet cold that clung to her like an icy shroud. Whoever had saved her had moved to a sitting position and was leaning over her.

  Turning to lie on her back, Isabelle froze, staring up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Bluer than the sky, bluer than the sea in the harbor on a summer day.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” the young man said sternly, still watching her. “Sensible folk know to stay out of these woods.”

  “You saved me.” Isabelle knew it was rude to stare, but couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Long silver hair framed his face, glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the forest’s branches. “Are you an angel?” He was beautiful.

  The man smiled, and Isabelle’s heartbeat quickened. “Maybe,” he said. The smile faded as soon as it’d come. “And maybe not.” He stood, offering her a pale hand. Isabelle took it tentatively, goosebumps spreading up her arm as his long fingers closed around hers. He definitely wasn’t from her city. He didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen before. Isabelle’s head barely came to his chest. She tilted her head back as she studied him. He was as drenched as she was, water dripped from his hair, his white shirt plastered to his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders and chest. Isabelle’s face warmed as her gaze wandered over his body.

  She coughed, looking away. “Thank you for helping me, sir.”

  “No problem.” The blue-eyed stranger lifted an arm, pointing behind Isabelle. “Your home is that way. You need to get back and change your clothing before the chill sets in.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Isabelle reached out, grabbing his arm. Her memory was returning. “What if the siren calls me again? What will I do?”

  The stranger smiled at her, his blue gaze soft. “She won’t. I killed her.”

  “You?” Isabelle stared at him. “A siren? How is that possible? Her call should have trapped you, too.”

  The stranger shrugged, looking away. “I’m a man of many talents.”

  “Come with me.” Isabelle knew she must look awful, with her hair and clothes soaking wet, but she smiled at him anyway. “My parents will want to thank you for saving my life.”

  His arm stiffened beneath her touch. He pulled away. “I don’t mix well with most people.” His tone was lighthearted, but his expression was troubled. “And I don’t need thanks for doing the right thing. Valor is its own reward, is it not?” He turned and began walking away.

  “Who are you?” Isabelle called.

  The man kept walking, not even looking back. “It’s not important. Be careful, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle frowned after his retreating figure. How did he know her name? She was sure she’d never seen him before.

  She turned and walked in the direction he’d pointed out to her. She looked around, frowning. She didn’t see her bow or quiver. She checked her skirt pocket. Her skirt was soaked like everything else but the little drawstring pouch she kept inside it was water repellent, the spare bowstring inside it still dry.

  Isabelle looked over her shoulder. The strange man was gone. She frowned, biting her lip pensively. Where he’d come from or who he was, Isabelle hadn’t the first clue. Perhaps he was a woodland spirit, or an elf. Isabelle couldn’t recall whether he’d had the tell-tale pointed ears of an elf though, however beautiful he might be. Regardless, he had to be powerful; she’d never heard of a man going toe-to-toe with a siren and winning. Still, he’d saved her.

  “Such blue eyes,” she murmured, smiling. Beautiful eyes. The people of her city had dark eyes, herself included. Blue was a rarity, and those she’d seen had always been the pale blue of the wanderers. His were a deep blue.

  She hoped she’d see him again, but who could say? She paused; her bow and quiver of arrows were lying on the ground. She must have dropped them when the siren’s song began. Picking them up she continued home, thinking about the morning’s strange events. Mother always said the forest held strange and impossible things never beheld by the eyes of man.

  Mother. Isabelle hastened her step. She’d have to keep her run-in with the siren a secret. Mother already didn’t approve of Isabelle’s forest escapades. If she knew Isabelle had almost died…

  Isabelle broke into a run, hoping the late winter sunlight and wind would dry her clothes. Mother wouldn’t learn of the siren from her.

  2

  The late winter day warmed quickly as the sun broke over the horizon. Still wet, but no longer cold, Isabelle made her way out of the woods, walking back to her village. The town of Stormview was almost part of the city Seabound, Stormview just a couple miles south from it, both located along the northwest coast. Most people from the village earned their living by fishing, but her father was a fairly wealthy merchant. Mother kept asking to move to the city, but Father loved the fishing village he grew up in. It was home to him.

  Isabelle sighed dejectedly as she walked home. Seabound was one of the few things she and her mother agreed on. The village was too small and cramped for her. She wanted to experience life away from the confining town. She wanted adventure. She knew it was a childish dream, but she wanted it just the same.

  “Isabelle!” She turned, hearing her name, and saw her friend Raesco running toward her, bare feet slapping against the rocks. His dark face was flushed with excitement, a bow clutched in one fist, several arrows held in the other.

  “The boys are setting up some targets. Wanna shoot?”

  Isabelle grinned back. “Do I ever not want to shoot?”

  He frowned at her a moment, his expression puzzled. “Why are you wet?”

  “Never mind that right now.” Isabelle motioned toward the village. She didn’t want Raesco blabbing about her struggle with the siren to everyone. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

  She followed her friend away from the forest’s edge, walking across the rocky shore toward the village. Raesco glanced back toward the green leafy canopy of the forest. “So you went in the woods again? You know it’s dangerous.”

  Isabelle grimaced at her friend’s words. He had no idea how on mark he was today. “It’s not too bad.”

  “One of these days a beast will snap you up, and there’ll be no one to save you but yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Isabelle replied, irritated.

  The two soon came to Stormview, the air thick with the scent of fish and saltwater. The small houses were a dull collection with peeling paint and tiled roofs. Isabelle’s father probably owned the largest house in town, but Raesco didn’t take her there. They hurried down a few narrow streets until they were standing at the back end of town.

  A few young men stood there, setting up damp bales of hay. They waved when they saw Isabelle and Raesco approach. “Took you long enough,” one of them said when they came closer. Tymothias was a tall, dark, lanky young man a couple of years older than Isabelle.

  “Shouldn’t you be out fishing?” she asked him.

  Tymothias shook his head, smiling. “Nope. I’m done with fishing.” Taking a large piece of tarp, he tossed it over the bale, drawing a target on it with a piece of charcoal. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” He picked up his bow and jogged several paces away, putting arrow to string. Still running, he leaped in midair and pulled back, letting the arrow fly. It shot through the air at blinding speed, slamming into the target’s center.

  The other boys whooped and clapped, giving Tymothias their approval. The young man winked at Isabelle, a wide smirk on his face. “Beat that.”

  Isabelle hastily re-strung her bow and walked over to where Tymothias stood. She could feel the anticipation humming through her. She already wore a bracer on her left arm, which she only took off to sleep. The worn leather was like a second skin to her. She nocked an arrow and lifted, sighting her target. She took a breath and, pulling the bowstring back, released.

  The arrow leaped away from her with a twang, whistling through the air. Faster than thought it slammed into its target, splitting Tymothias’ arrow straight down the middle.

  The boys standing around star
ed in silence for a moment before yelling in excitement. Tymothias smiled at Isabelle, for all the world looking like a proud brother. “Excellent shot, Isabelle.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled back. “Your shot was just as good.”

  “You should come with me,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow to travel to Illyminatym.”

  “Tymothias is going to become a Fabled Hunter!” Raesco blurted out. “He’s going to be a legend!”

  The young man shifted, clearly embarrassed by all the attention. “I don’t know about legend, but I am definitely going to try my best.”

  Isabelle frowned. “You’re not a noble, Tymothias,” she said. “Only nobles can—”

  “The rules have changed,” Raesco interrupted, his eyes shining with excitement. “This year, anyone can enter the tournament. Where have you been, Isabelle?”

  Isabelle shrugged. “I guess I’ve been too busy practicing archery.”

  “You should think about it,” Tymothias said. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, bright and early. Meet me at my house if you change your mind.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Father is sending me to Archeress Academy. You flatter me, but I think school is the best place for me to hone my skill.”

  Tymothias looked disappointed, but Raesco just rolled his eyes, his young face filled with disgust. “You’re picking school over a chance to be famous. Think about that for a minute.”

  Isabelle laughed. “I don’t need to be famous, Raesco. Just good with the bow.”

  “You’re already good at it,” Dav, another one of her friends, said. He was the same age as Isabelle, but an inch shorter. Being eighteen, it was unlikely he’d ever be taller. He smiled good-naturedly. “You and Tymothias are the best archers this side of the sea. I’d bet gold on it.”

  “Thanks.” Isabelle walked over to retrieve her arrow. She held it out to Tymothias who’d followed her. “Here. Sorry for breaking yours.”

  Tymothias shook his head, refusing the arrow. “I have plenty. Good luck at school, Isabelle. If you change your mind after I leave, find me at Illyminatym, the king’s city.”