Ravinor Read online

  Copyright © 2015 Travis Peck

  All rights reserved.

  Book cover designed by Deranged Doctor Design

  Contents

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Interlude: Part One

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Interlude: Part Two

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  OSBAR AND HIS SISTER, Shiya, tromped through the tall grasses surrounding their home. Osbar, nearly ten, wielded a stick and was savagely striking the heads off his imagined foes; each blade of grass represented an enemy soldier or a ravinor. Shiya, four years younger, trailed a few paces behind her big brother. She knew that Osbar would not mistake her for one of the enemy horde but thought it best to give the imaginary warrior enough space to swing his mighty blade.

  She was more interested in catching the lightflies that swarmed around them, though always beyond her reach. They were much harder to see when it was light out but searching for them at night was an impossibility. Even Shiya knew better than that. The ravinors usually waited to come forth at nightfall from whatever dark domains they had sheltered in, so humans and other creatures did their business by the light of day.

  She and her older brother never ventured too far from their home, but if they did, they had developed the skill to tell how long it was until sunset and how much distance they had to cover to make it to their house before darkness fell.

  Osbar’s longer strides carried him farther and farther away as he continued waging his glorious battle. Shiya became focused on an errant lightfly that had strayed from its comrades. An easy target. She missed the lightfly with the first swipe of the net, and then the second, third, and fourth. The lightfly, now sensing peril, brought itself back up to speed as it attempted to rejoin the swarm. Shiya grew frustrated by her failure to catch her prize, but her lack of success only fueled her desire to catch one of the elusive insects. Taking more desperate and wild swings with her net, she lost all sense of her surroundings as she dashed after her prey.

  She kept running and running, the insect always ahead of her tempting her onward. Then suddenly it soared above her having tired of the game. Shiya was breathing hard now, and she had a moment of panic. She didn’t know how long she had been chasing after the lightfly. She was still in the tall grass, but to the south, much closer than she had thought it would be, stood a swath of forest. She checked the sun’s position overhead and was relieved. If she and her brother left now they would get home just before dusk.

  Shiya calmed as she could hear Osbar in the distance shouting orders to his soldiers to rally to him for a final, desperate stand. The net tangled up on a few tall stalks of grass and was pulled from her grasp. As she stooped over to pick it up, the wind blew the grass in front of her, revealing a glimpse of what was ahead. She gasped and froze, paralyzed with fear. Nearly one hundred yards away, at the edge of the woods, there was a figure. The tall grass continued to sway in the wind, but the figure was perfectly still, and she could tell that she had been seen.

  Ravinor.

  Tattered remnants of clothing hung off the creature’s frame. She knew that ravinors were once human beings, and so it made sense that after the unfortunate person was infected and became a ravinor, that they would still be dressed in whatever they had been wearing during the last moments of their human lives. Ravinors were unconcerned by the trappings of their old lives, so they would frequently be seen wearing clothing that was about to rot away. From this distance, Shiya could make out the pale flesh peeking out from beneath its ripped and decayed clothing. Even though she could not see them from this far away, she knew that the creature’s black, soulless eyes were watching her. She imagined the beast’s grime-encrusted, elongated nails clicking and scraping together, as its sharp teeth longed for her flesh.

  The wind died and still the ravinor did not move toward her. Something was wrong. It was under the shade from the dense foliage of the forest, but she had always been told that ravinors never ventured out during the day; shade or no shade. Shiya could see the rapid rise and fall of the ravinor’s chest. It was clearly as agitated as she was but likely less terrified. They stood perfectly motionless for moments, yet there was no indication that the ravinor was going to charge after her. Shiya didn’t want to wait any longer to find out if it would. She was trembling and had to force her legs to move. They responded but rigidly. Despite her legs’ reluctance, she was able to move slowly back the way she had come. The ravinor continued to stare. Even from this distance, she was able to see the ravinor tremble with desire as it crouched against a tree.

  Panic overwhelmed her. She could not stand it one moment longer. She bolted. Glancing back as she ran, she saw the ravinor lurch to its feet and crash down suddenly, letting loose a howl of pain. She saw the creature sprawled onto the ground begin to pull itself along, dragging its right leg behind it.

  Shiya slowed to a jog while craning her neck back to keep the creature in sight. She could not take her eyes off the ravinor, injured though it may be. Perhaps that was why it was acting so oddly. Of course, she had never seen a ravinor before, so she did not really know how one was supposed to act. She was breathing heavily and was slick with sweat, but she began to feel calmer as she started to search for her brother. She saw the creature prop itself up against the tree and back to its original position. The ravinor let out a terrible cry. Part screech, part howl. It turned her blood to ice. Panic returned. Shiya lost any trace of lingering curiosity to observe the creature after that awful cry.

  She turned and raced away as fast she could run—as fast as she had ever ran in her life. Or so she had thought until she heard answering cries behind her coming from the forest’s edge. She ran faster. She risked one last glance at the forest and could see more seething figures frantically moving about. Luckily, she did not see any venture beyond the boundary between the trees and the grass.

  Shiya was not certain if she would ever be able to stop running. She caught sight of her brother on the top of a small rise where she had left him when she began to chase after the lightfly. From Osbar’s ashen face, Shiya knew that he had heard the ravinor calls. Spurred on by the shrieks and howls sounding behind them, her brother did not protest an early end to his soldier game. Instead, he dropped his stick and ran alongside her; neither of the siblings wasted the breath to speak.

  After running hard for nearly two candles, Shiya sighed with relief when she spotted their home in the distance. The house stood on top of a small hill where it was encircled by a high stone wall. Her father had been in the military and had insisted that the house, barn, and workshop all be built with security in mind. A path cut through the tall, green grass. It led from the gate in the stone wall down to the base of the hill where two old sentinel trees grew tall on either side. Underneath the
shade of the two trees, the path ended at another gate; this one appearing more typical for a farmstead, just a simple wooden gate attached to a fence that encompassed the base of the hill. Its main purpose was to keep their livestock from wandering away while grazing. It would do little to keep ravinors at bay.

  Shiya saw three tawny blurs racing down the path, barking in greeting. These were much more effective guards than the two trees or the porous livestock fence. Three war mastiffs bounded through the open gate to check on their master’s children; Aelpheus, the largest, was in the lead as usual. Tyrant, a slightly smaller male, and Amalia, the lone female, flanked their leader as he quickly inspected his charges. The war mastiffs were gifts for her father when he had finally retired from the Styric Legion, and all three bore the name of someone he had served under, or with, during his time there. The mastiffs were a breed famed for their fiercely protective nature, as well as for their intelligence. Each war mastiff was nearly the size of a pony, and the mastiffs were far and away the largest breed in Styr.

  The dogs sensed the fear rolling off the children. Hackles raised, Aelpheus let out a howl, then raced off in the direction of the youths’ back-trail. Tyrant sniffed at both of them, and once satisfied that they were all right, he bounded off to follow Aelpheus. Amalia gently mouthed Osbar’s hand and tugged him toward the house, though neither of the children needed any prompting. With Osbar being gently towed up the hill, Shiya flung herself on Amalia’s back. The female mastiff graciously allowed her master’s pup to ride her.

  By the time they were halfway up the hill, their father came running toward them with his bow in hand and an arrow nocked. He gave a sharp whistle, and Shiya heard the answering bark from Aelpheus and Tyrant as they stopped in their tracks and raced back to the house. Their mother was running toward them. She must have been interrupted in the middle of hanging clothes to dry as she had a wet tunic still clutched in her hand, forgotten.

  Osbar and Shiya’s older brother, Barsus, came out of the workshop from behind the house with a maul in hand. Her Uncle Crallick was at his side with a pickax held in his huge fists. Barsus was seventeen years old and only slightly smaller than their father. Uncle Crallick, who wasn’t really their uncle at all, was nearly a giant, at least in Shiya’s eyes. He towered over her father, who was considered in most company to be a big man in his own right. Crallick had worked for her father in the wars, and when her father retired, Crallick had left the legion with him.

  Uncle Crallick’s intense face, framed by his wild beard, and the pickax held at the ready, made for an imposing sight. Even Barsus looked scary with that huge hammer in his hands. It felt like she was safe for the first time in days, though really it had only been three candles or so. Her father, who Uncle Crallick still called ‘Captain’ but whose name was really Garet—though she just called him dada—swept her off Amalia’s broad back and held her in his arms. Her mother rushed over to them and enfolded them both in her own embrace. Crallick and Barsus ran over to Osbar, and the story came out in between gasps of air.

  “Shiya seen a ravinor!” Osbar said in a rush, hands on his knees, and still struggling to get his air back. Shiya knew this was a serious situation because her mother always tried to make Osbar talk properly, and this time she did not even correct him, only clung onto him more tightly. “I heard ’em too. There were lots!” Osbar sounded excited now and not scared, but Shiya knew that if he had seen them like she had, he would only be scared.

  “The first one was hurt, he stared at me, and wanted to get me, but when he tried, he fell, and I dropped my net and started to run, and he howled, and then others came and started howling too, and I ran faster than ever and—” Shiya let it all out in a rush before being calmed by her father.

  “Where were you when you saw them?” her father asked in his deep and gentle voice. Her father was always calm. Uncle Crallick said it was because they’d seen every scary thing in the world already and that there was nothing scary left that they hadn’t seen.

  “By the woods… He was just sitting by a tree at the edge. I think he would have came for me but his leg was hurt,” she said, trying to slow down her speech but with little success.

  “He had ripped clothes on, and he was pale…and his eyes—I didn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them.” Shiya shivered and she thought she might start crying now that she was remembering. The running had forced her focus away from thinking about her ordeal, but now that she was safe, it all came back to her.

  “When he couldn’t get to me, he started howling and shrieking, so I ran—“ She started to sob in between words. She hated not being able to control her outburst, but she could not help it. “And once I ran, I looked back—and I—could see more of them—and they started howling, too.” The tears came now, and her little body shook in her parents’ arms as they comforted her.

  “Myrna. Would you take her inside please,” her father said, still calm, but Shiya could tell that he was concerned. Her dada shifted her into her mother’s arms who carried her inside. She knew the others would be talking important plans now, but she was too young, and she didn’t know what to do anyways. She did know that she would never chase lightflies again.

  ***

  The three mastiffs were on high alert as they stared back toward the west where the children had encountered the ravinors. With heads upright and necks stiff, the dogs knew that ravinors were about. That is what they were bred for. Garet wished that his little girl was mistaken, but he could hear the truth in her tale, unusual though it was. He had seen ravinors before, he had killed ravinors before, but he had never—never—heard of a situation like his daughter described. In daylight? It did not bode well.

  He shared a look with Crallick once he saw that Osbar was occupied telling his own version of the story, clearly trying to impress his older brother. Crallick came over to him and waited for him to speak first. Old habits.

  “We have almost a full candle until dark… Not enough time to get to town,” he said. Crallick nodded in agreement. “Go to the Ayersons’ place and warn them. Tell them they are welcome to come here. Encourage them to come. You should have time to get back before dark, but take Aelpheus with you.” Crallick stopped himself from saluting with obvious effort and strode away toward the barn, calling the big mastiff to him. On foot, he wouldn’t have a chance of making it to the Ayerson home in time, but they had horses that were capable of speeding over the grasslands. And, if need be, they could outrun a ravinor.

  Barsus came over to him, Osbar at his heels. “I’ll go with him,” his eldest said, though it sounded like more of a question.

  “No. Get the livestock in the barn, then go down and make sure the gates are closed and chained. Just in case.” Barsus was disappointed but did as his father said. “Take this.” He handed Barsus his bow and quiver. His eldest son nodded as he slung the quiver onto his shoulder and strode off down the hill, calling for Tyrant to join him.

  “Can I go with him?” Osbar asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

  Garet smiled. “He’ll be back soon. I need your help here, though.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I need you to get lots of firewood and stack it right where we’re standing now. It’s important that you get as much firewood over here as you can before dark, okay?”

  Osbar, unlike Crallick, did salute, then he ran off to the woodpile that was next to the workshop and started to load up as much firewood in his arms as he could carry. Garet was proud of his son, but he was even more proud, and more than a little surprised, that his young daughter had seen a ravinor, possibly a full coven, and had kept her head. He had seen grown men do much worse in far better circumstances than his little girl had.

  He studied the approach to the house. Ravinors were not intelligent. That much he knew and could take advantage of; they were strong and could run fast but were not able to make quick tactical adjustments like a human enemy could. Unlike a human, however, ravinors were able to function with wound
s that would incapacitate a man, making them that much more difficult to dispatch.

  Garet’s experience had taught him that ravinors preferred to keep out of the light of the sun. Usually, they lurked about under the shade of a heavily canopied forest or in caves and the like. Despite their lack of intelligence, the creatures had proven remarkably adept at discerning how long they had to seek shelter before the sun rose.

  The good news was that the forest his daughter had told him about was not one large contiguous woodland. It was a relatively small tract of forest that was surrounded by grass in all directions. This told him that they were likely only dealing with one group, or coven, of ravinors. Garet suspected that the creatures had been chasing some prey and had become stranded out in the grasslands before happening across the small tract that would provide shelter for them during the day. With any luck, they would simply leave at night and go back to where they had come from. At least, he hoped they did.

  Garet’s mind wandered to the past, seeking out any memory that could aid them in their present circumstance. Garet and Crallick had fought together for all of their military lives. They had fought in the Usurper War, the Wine War, and the Northern War. But the hardest campaign had been the Third Ravinor War, during which the empire had sought to put an end to the alarming increase in the ravinor population. Farmsteads, villages, and even large towns all across the continent were falling to the more frequent and larger scale raids that were being carried out by the creatures. And, of course, the more people that were infected by the ravinors meant the more “recruits” joined their enemy, which further bolstered their numbers.

  Since the conclusion of that war, over two decades past, the ravinor threat had faded to become a simple nuisance—dangerous, but manageable. A vast improvement over the raging hordes that had once preyed upon humans throughout the empire. Perhaps it’s time for the Fourth Ravinor War, Garet thought.