A Flight of Marewings (Wyld Magic, Book 1)

Chapter 1: Korinna I

Korinna looked up from the group of farm workers she was supervising and saw her father’s ghost. He stood at the far end of the field, staring at her; she could see straight through him to the forest beyond. Dust clogged her mouth, making it difficult to breathe. She stared back at him as feelings washed over her: shock, rage, sorrow.

Curse the gods’ timing! She had only a few days left of the harvest. The last member of her family was dead. Her father, the duke of the powerful port city Kyratia, had rarely come to visit his mistress and illegitimate daughter at the remote farm at Anoberesovo, and not at all since her mother’s death years before. Yet he had remained her protector from afar, funding her estate, and promising to arrange her a powerful marriage. Korinna had received a letter only a week prior about his illness. The ghost’s haggard appearance told her the outcome.

Korinna closed her eyes for a moment and whispered a prayer for her father’s soul. Then she took a deep breath to steel herself; she did not have time to mourn, and she had been anticipating this chain of events for several years. She beckoned to a young boy helping in the field. “Run and tell the foreman that everyone must stop their work and go back to their homes. They may gather what they can quickly, but everyone must be indoors before nightfall.”

He nodded, then spun on his heel and sprinted away. She did not pause to watch him go, but turned and went up the hill to the main house.

The four wooden walls of the courtyard closed around her, providing the safety of the home she had always known. Anoberesovo was a modest estate, encompassing enough grain fields to support fifty families, a stream to irrigate the crops, and grazing land for sheep. Servants and guards also lived in the main house, which was too large for Korinna alone, and she could afford a blacksmith, a healer, and a musician in residence as well. As a child, the courtyard with its out buildings and vegetable garden had felt enormous to her. At nineteen, she knew every pane of glass in the windows, every board in the walls. Putting her hand out to the worn wood reassured and steadied her.

Her steward, Myron, rushed out of the storehouse to her side. “My lady, what is wrong? You look ill.” He put a hand on her forehead.

Korinna brushed off his concerned touch. “I have called the workers from the fields. Send everyone we can spare back to their homes and tell them to stay there. We must lock the gates before nightfall, and I want all of my people safe.”

Myron looked past her to the empty road. “Are we being attacked?”

“I don’t know.” Korinna rubbed her hands together, trying to stay calm. “Duke Basileos is dead, and his Warlord is coming here. He will want to seal the marriage pact that my father once proposed, and we cannot be sure of his intentions. We must be prepared to defend our home if he comes in force.”

Myron spat on the ground to avert evil. “Your father is dead? How do you know?”

She took a deep breath. “I saw his ghost.”

The old man’s eyes widened and he cupped his hand to his forehead, invoking Deyos. “The gods guide his soul through the Dry Lands. Oh, my poor child.”

Korinna murmured another prayer and glanced behind her. The shade now stood just outside the gate, staring at her with hollow eyes. He pointed up to the sun and traced a line down to the western horizon. “We must prepare, quickly. The Warlord will arrive after sunset.”

Myron bowed his balding head and shuffled off to carry out her instructions.

She summoned the captain of her guard next and told him to prepare their defenses, but she knew even as she spoke to him that they would not be enough. Anoberesovo was not a fortress, and her guards were not war veterans. If Warlord Galenos came there with a company of his trained soldiers and tried to take her from the house by force, she would have to surrender or see her home destroyed.