Impavidus the impavidus.., p.1
Impavidus (The Impavidus Cycle Book 3), page 1
The Impavidus Cycle Book Three
M. A. Vice
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by M.A. Vice
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the author, except brief passages which may be quoted in review. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. No portion of this publication may be used to train artificial intelligence models.
Cover art © 2023 by M.A. Vice
Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Epilogue
Afterword + Acknowledgements
Chapter I
Mianna thought some mornings as she rode through the trees surrounding the city that she could somehow still smell the acrid stench of Sylva burning, her people and their homes with it.
But the sun shone, and the air was cold and clean and filled with the sharp sounds of workers with tools building back what had been lost. There was joy in the voices of the townsfolk, even if it was tired.
And yet, she still noticed the traces of soot beneath her feet.
This was yet another frigid morning, the spring still too new to offer any warmth or green. It was the ugliest part of winter, Mianna thought to herself – the skies were bright and blue, but the hillside was still dead and brown, with much of the snow having melted away but no new growth to cover the deadfall.
The cry of a hawk above broke Mianna out of the trance the rhythmic thudding of her horse’s hoofbeats had lulled her into, and she looked up to the powder-blue sky to find the source of the sound. It was Aidan, her hunting bird; she could see from the lack of prey clutched in his talons that his hunt had finished for the day. He had been catching small rabbits from the forest floor, which would provide good meat for a stew – and Joaquin could perhaps make use of the soft fur to line the collar of a coat for Albtraum. He’d often seemed sensitive to the texture of wool against his skin.
Aidan called to her once more before swooping down to land on a nearby branch and wait for the wagons to return. Mianna’s attention was pulled back to the path ahead, and she could hear the shouts of the hunting party as they ended their work for the day. Cullyn was one of the first she spotted, looking ragged and dirtied and not at all like a crown prince, a gore-covered spear in one hand.
He was in his element here, hunting in the forests – courtly settings repelled him like a miasma. The last time he had rounded a corner and saw Mianna in formal dress, his eyes had widened, and he rushed back to his room – only to return moments later being dragged rather ungently along by Joaquin.
“Cullyn,” she called in greeting. “Fruitful hunt, was it?”
He glanced over on hearing her, and nodded. “Yes, we managed a few stags today, the wagons should be up the path shortly. Found these as well,” he added, slinging a sack around his shoulder to reveal three pheasants. “I thought perhaps we might have them tonight.”
Mianna managed to muster a slight smile. “Yes, that may just be enough to place you in Joaquin’s good graces. He’s fond of pheasant.”
Cullyn laughed, but it was half-caught with nervousness. “He hasn’t seemed too pleased with me of late, I know…”
Mianna turned her gaze back up the road to the city sprawling up the mountainside. “He has mentioned to me that he has felt unappreciated by you, and I cannot rightly say I blame him.”
“So then I am not even to have my sister on my side of things, then,” Cullyn sighed.
Mianna pressed her lips together. Cullyn did bring out a playful devilishness from her – despite everything, she was still his little sister, the same who had once tormented him by hiding his belongings throughout the small shack they lived in together and trying to trip him when they foraged in the woods.
“I have been ever on Joaquin’s side for a great many decades, Cullyn. You will find me hard to sway.”
Cullyn’s slight smile turned to a frown, his brow twitching slightly as his emotions shifted. She’d touched a nerve, she could see. Cullyn was still struggling to sort through his feelings about the knowledge that he and Mianna had led parallel lives for many years, each unaware of the other’s continued existence – the reminder seemed to have stung, even spoken as a jest.
The commotion ahead of them on the road grew in volume, and soon Mianna saw that the wagons carrying the day’s kills were slowly returning to the city, surrounded by the last of the hunters. Bringing up the rear she saw Edmund, riding with a bow slung across his shoulders, and Glen not far behind him. They each looked slightly ragged from the day’s work, but Mianna could see as they drew nearer that they were smiling brightly, the type of smiles she did not often see in recent days.
She kept her eyes on the path as the procession of riders faded out, feeling a tension grip her as the last familiar face she expected did not appear.
“Ah, Your Majesty!” Glen shouted to her as he steered his horse off the path to where she waited on the sidelines. He was still somewhat clumsy, riding with only one arm, but his new mount was an easygoing white mare that responded gently to his commands.
He had been among the most excited for the hunt; since the loss of his dominant arm, he had come to find most of his usual activities anywhere from difficult to impossible, and Mianna knew he was struggling despite his best efforts to hide his growing frustration. He’d scarcely allowed Mianna to finish speaking before enthusiastically agreeing when she had asked if he wished to join them.
As he looked around at the group gathering on the road as they prepared to return to the city, his gentle smile wavered, and he glanced back over to address Mianna. “Did Al head back to the estate already? I thought I saw him on the hunters’ path a short while ago.”
The clutch of tension tightened. “I thought he would have been with you, Glen,” she said hurriedly.
He shook his head. “He was off on his own, last I saw. Well, he can’t have gone far—”
Glen’s musing was interrupted by the soft sound of whickering as a horse crested the hill to join the rest of the group. It was a bay mare, with one of the saddlebags left open, and the reins carelessly dangling off to the side – but most damningly, no rider.
“It’s Clover…” he observed, trailing off. “But…”
Albtraum’s horse. Without Albtraum.
Mianna gave a sharp inhale and spurred her horse forward in the direction she was facing – back down the path to the forest.
“Your Majesty—” Glen started to call.
“It’s alright, Glen,” she called back, trying to sound reassuring but finding her voice high and reedy with nervousness as she rode along the path, looking back over her shoulder at the group. “Cullyn, lead the wagons back to the city, won’t you? I… I won’t be far behind.”
Cullyn replied with a brief nod. “I will, Mia. We will see you back at the estate.”
She caught only glimpses of the concerned looks that followed her as she charged back down the path – this was an overreaction, she knew. She had been more prone to over-worrying, and it had not escaped most anyone’s notice. This was an overreaction. It had to be an overreaction.
Mianna winced as a branch nearly caught her arm – she hadn’t even noticed how fast she was running her horse. It was a spirited young stallion, and did not take much coaxing to reach nearly a full gallop.
The sunlight filtering through the trees grew darker as she rode deeper into the forest, and soon the midday sun seemed a faraway thing.
The dense brush of Sylva’s forests was nearly dark as night, but Albtraum’s sight was scarcely hindered as he peered through the gaps of the foliage at the stag that had stopped to graze there.
He had been tracking it for quite some time, and was pleased with how long he’d managed to move with such silent caution, unnoticed as he placed his footfalls with the precision of a surgeon, his breath restrained to the point it barely fogged before him in the cold air.
The stag shifted as it continued to feast on the new buds of the bushes that had just beg
And yet, this one did not. Albtraum knew the moment his fingers loosed the arrow that it would not strike its target, the frustrated huff of failure bursting from his lips just as the arrow landed with a sharp thunk into the tree a few feet from where the stag had been standing before it bolted. He rose back to his feet to retrieve the arrow, knowing he had wasted enough time now it would be pointless to pursue the stag further.
The woods were cold and silent away from the clearings where the sun reached the ground, and Albtraum’s footsteps crunched heavily on the snow that had melted and frozen again as spring began to warm the face of the mountains. Freed from the focus of the hunt, he realized he had completely lost track of the path, and of his horse… he grimaced as he carefully extracted the stray arrow from the soft wood of the young tree it had embedded in. He brushed the tip of his finger along the edge of the small gouge left in the tree trunk. The wood was still somewhat green beneath the bark, but he knew the mark would soon leave a black scar upon the tree – just as the marks left there by the birds that pecked upon it or the deer that scraped the velvet from their antlers.
“Albtraum.”
The whispery sound of the voice that addressed him froze Albtraum where he stood, his breath held until his chest ached and he finally let it out, shuddering. He turned to face the source, his eyes boring into the shadows of the forest to make out the spectral form that stood there.
Half-skeletal, with a humanlike visage that faded every time he managed to make it out from the vaporous appearance of the figure – Albtraum knew he was facing Necros.
He stood motionless, unable to do anything but stare as the vision of Necros became clearer to him. He wanted to bolt, to turn away – but a deep, otherworldly fear kept him rooted to the spot. To run or turn his back felt like inviting reprisal.
“Necros,” he answered in greeting, fighting to steady his voice.
“I will be brief,” Necros said, the image of him drawing somewhat nearer as Albtraum’s fingers clenched around the arrow in his hand. “We spoke before of Z’xolkuloth. We spoke of his resistance to his own death. Destroying the physical forms he has made for himself brings him no closer to my grasp.”
“But it has bought us time,” Albtraum said in a rush, slipping the arrow in his hand back into the quiver that hung at his belt. He mustered the will to turn away, his footsteps suddenly clumsy in the snow.
“Of that I am not sure, child. He has grown desperate.”
Albtraum’s jaw clenched, his teeth gritted. “I cannot kill what’s dead already.” He turned back to Necros, his chest tightening again at the sight of him.
“There is some way. All things must submit to the end in time.”
“Believe you me, I have been wracking every corner of my mind to devise some solution to this conundrum,” Albtraum retorted. His tone was taut, but for all the will he was expending not to bolt into the trees, he had none left to temper his voice with civility. “This, along with Chronus’ message about my mother—”
His hands shook. The air had grown colder, he felt he could scarcely draw breath, he could feel the crushing gravity of Necros’ presence bearing down on him.
“Why do you still follow me?” Albtraum asked, his hands clenching into fists. Necros stared back at him stoically, clouded eyes visible through the misty outline of his face. “You let me go, and yet you still dog me at every turn, I still see you in every shadow – why?”
The silence grew heavy, and Albtraum began to wonder if he was imploring a mirage for an answer – and then the sound of a voice cut through his distress, abruptly pulling his attention to its source.
“Albtraum!”
The voice was more unsteady than he was used to hearing, but unmistakable – Mia.
“Here,” he called back as he caught sight of her shoving her way through the brush, stopping as she saw him. She looked somewhat disheveled, heavy breaths of exertion clouding so much in the frigid air they almost obscured her face. He looked back into the darkness of the woods – Necros was gone.
Mianna disentangled herself from the bushes and rushed down the hill to him, nearly colliding with him before she slowed to a stop. He wondered at the cause of her rushing, and why she seemed half-panicked, until he thought of how long he must have spent tracking the stag… that he had left Clover at the roadside, and— Oh.
“I am sorry,” he muttered, moving to embrace her in greeting. “I was tracking something, and I lost track of the time… and the road.”
Mianna threw her arms around him, still out of breath. “That is… that is alright, darling. Forgive me, I know I look foolish at present, I should not still be worrying so – I only…”
“You? Foolish?” He pulled back to display his smirk of amusement before nuzzling against her forehead. “Not possible. I am glad to have your company for the way back.”
Seeming relieved now, she took hold of both his hands. She was outfitted simply in a dark woolen dress and leather boots, a thick-furred cloak around her shoulders. “And an extra cloak, I gather. Yours was still tied to Clover’s saddlebag. You are freezing.”
“I don’t feel the cold here so much after Hatheg Kla…” Albtraum started to answer, but Mianna cut him off as she tugged him along by the hand back the way she had come. She must have tracked him by the footprints he’d left – she still retained much of her experience as a hunter from her old life as a commoner.
“That scarcely matters,” she huffed before whistling for her horse. Albtraum heard the soft thudding of hoofbeats up ahead through the brush, the sound orienting him to where the path must lay.
He found his fatigue had finally caught him up as he struggled to scale the small hill to return to the path, though Mianna made her way with ease, reaching a hand back to help him over the slight ledge on the edge of the path. He needed it – his legs were unsteady after such a long day spent traversing the wood.
As he reached for her hand, he found himself amused to be looking up at her – he towered nearly two heads over her, and the difference in the terrain between them gave her a rare height advantage – at least for a moment. He stepped back up to the path, his gaze shifting back down to meet hers.
The flushed pink of her face from the cold drew his eyes to the faint but visible scar on her cheek – and the memory of Skulthur’s blade cutting her face flashed through him in a pang. His brow furrowed, and his eyes darted away.
“Albtraum?”
“I—” Albtraum caught himself before he pulled away from Mianna, his grip on her hand in his tightening as his eyes once again met hers. “I chased too long after the stag, I…”
Mianna interrupted him by pulling out of his grasp and reaching up to gently take his face in her hands. Her worn leather gloves were soft on his cheeks.
“Your nerves seem frayed to pieces,” she observed pointedly. “I imagine it would do you some good to end the hunt here for the day.”
“Yes,” he agreed, releasing some of his tension in a breath as he leaned into her touch.
Together they mounted Mianna’s horse, Albtraum settling into the saddle behind her as she took the reins and steered the horse back to the path.
He was glad for the forced closeness of riding together, and Mianna rode side-saddle, affording them an easy position from which to converse. She leaned against him, and he gently wrapped his arms around her, feeling the chill of the air fade with her warmth.
“We should not be too far behind the others,” Mianna assured him, glancing up with a smile. “We can help with distributing the spoils of the day, and then I should like nothing more than to take an evening to myself with you.”
“Are you certain?” Albtraum asked her, leaning back slightly to look at her. “That… I would also love an evening with you, but I know there is still much that requires your attention.”
Mianna let out a soft breath, as if slightly exasperated by his reminder of all the many things she was responsible for. “That which requires my attention will still be waiting for me tomorrow.”
“As will I be,” Albtraum interjected.
