Curse of The Seventh Sword: The Gauntlet of Feona Read Free Page A

to live.  To whom did the strong arms that lifted her out of her cold well belong?  Who owned this voice that seemed to calm her even while her soul was in turmoil?
    “Stay alive.”  There it was again… that voice willing her to keep breathing, to keep living.
    “What’s your name?”  The voice asked.
    “Va… Jaynea” Vannera was slipping again.
    “Va Jaynea?” 
    Somewhere deep inside, Vannera smiled.  He was silly.  How could she tell the voice belonged to a he?  Every sound she heard echoed and reverberated in her ears.  She realized she didn’t care whom it belonged to. That voice was keeping her in this world, so she held unto it.
    “ Vannera” She finally said.  “Vannera”
    The fire burning in her stomach was finally receding and a cooling sensation came over her as she fell into a deep sleep.
     

CHAPTER TWO (The Arrival of the Death Class)
                  Ovar sat nervously on his chair, shifting his weight from side to side and drumming on his armrest with his fingers.  The sound bothered him, but he couldn’t stop.  His mind was racing with thoughts.  Davydd had gone hunting the previous afternoon and was to return later on in the evening.  During that period, news had reached Gor, Windhaven and other neighboring towns in the southern region of Angweleth that robbers had attacked the princess’s caravan.  Everyone had been killed, including Princess Vannera.  Her companion on that trip was apparently nowhere to be found.  Robbers.  Please, Davydd let this not be your doing.  Despite his worries, Ovar was pretty sure this was not Davydd’s work.  He and his gang operated within certain rules and one of them was that none of their victims was to be hurt by any member.  Another important rule was to try as best as possible to steal without the victim knowing he had been stolen from… at least for a while.  Finally, Davydd never went along with a robbery plan that was too risky and could endanger the lives of his men or himself.  Robbing the princess of Angweleth was such a risk.  Besides, all those highly trained elite soldiers were decimated.  Ovar knew Davydd was an excellent marksman but that was as far as his combat skills went.  So the question remained, who out there was capable of annihilating an entire elite soldier unit?  And was Davydd somehow caught up in this as a victim?  Ovar had to find out and to do that he would have to go into the misty forest.  There was only one problem.  Most of the towns around Gor including Gor itself had been put on a curfew since word of the princess’s death spread.  No one was allowed out of their home after the first sign of dusk.  Ovar clenched his right fist in anger and suddenly lifted his frame out of his chair.  On his face was an expression of unwavering resolve.  He had to find Davydd, curfew or no curfew.  Ovar slung a black robe over his clothes and then made his way to his room.  Beside his bed, lay a long box made of dark oak wood.  He reached down and opened it, revealing a long sword, encased in an ornamental sheath.  Its hilt was golden and carved in with intricate patterns.  Ovar stared at it for a while.  All these years and I hoped I’d never have to wield a sword again.   Ovar shook his head, silently chastising himself.  It was more a hopeless wish than a hope.  This day was always fated.   He bent down, picked up the sheathed sword and strapped it to his belt.  Finally, he put on his hat and made his way out of the house.  After making sure he wasn’t seen, he disappeared into the night.
     
    All around her, she could hear the sound of the forest.  It was as though it had two souls and when the forest’s daytime soul departed with the last ray of daylight, the soul of the night and its sounds slowly but surely took over.  Owls hooted intermittently, crickets chirped incessantly and every now and then, she could hear the hiss of a snake, as it tasted the night air hoping