Nyssa (Goddess of War Series Book 1) Read online

  Nyssa

  Goddess of War Series - Book One

  Kate Keir

  NYSSA

  Copyright © 2017 Kate Keir

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any other information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction, all names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  I dedicate this book to my mum and dad. You are the ones who have always believed in me, even when I couldn’t believe in myself.

  Forever and always xxxxxx

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  “Nyssa, I’m not taking no for an answer. It’s your birthday, and you deserve a day to yourself.” My mother practically pushed me out the front door of our bakery, despite my protests.

  “But, there is no one else to help you here mother.” It was an age-old argument between us. Ever since my father had been taken from us and killed in service to the army of Lord Odyn Rygard, my brother and I had watched over my mother and helped her in every way we possibly could.

  “Sweet one, it’s one day of the year. You have done everything you could to help this morning. Now, I want you to take that delivery for me, then go to the market and treat yourself to something nice.”

  Last night, my mother and my brother, Haydyn, had accosted me before bed. My mother had pushed a small pouch of coins into my hand, insisting that tomorrow, on my twenty-eighth birthday, I go to the market square in the centre of our hometown and buy myself something nice with the money they had both saved up for me.

  “You have to take it, Nys.” My brother shook his head and smiled as he shortened my name in the way he used to when he was a baby because he couldn’t say it properly. “Or we’ll both be really offended.”

  His green eyes glinted with affection as he ran his fingers through his auburn hair. Haydyn was essentially the male equivalent of me. We had exactly the same colour eyes and hair, only his hair was cut short, while mine fell down my back to my waist, in waves of copper gold. We both had pale skin and were both fairly tall and willowy in stature. We could be twins but for the age difference between us. He winked as I scowled at them both.

  I started to argue again but my mother stopped me, saying, “Nyssa, for one day, I just want you to rest, relax, and do the normal things that girls do. Instead of having to watch over me and spend all day working at the bakery.”

  My brother snorted laughter at that. Grinning at me, he said, “Her, do what normal girls do? She’s more of a boy than I am, mother.”

  My scowl deepened, and before he knew what was happening, I had launched myself across the room and grabbed him by the neck. We both landed in a heap on the floor as I affectionately scuffed the top of his head, making a mess of his copper hair.

  For all of her sadness since losing my father, my mother’s greatest happiness lay with my eighteen-year-old brother and me. She smiled down at us both in that moment, as we play-fought and squabbled like children. Kneeling down beside us, she wrapped her arms around the two of us and said, “I love you both so very much.” This was how things had been for five years, since the loss of our fourth family member. The pain we shared had brought us closer together than ever; they loved me, and I loved them fiercely in return.

  So, there we stood in the light of the newly dawning morning. My mother had her hands planted firmly against her hips, and her chin jutted forward defiantly. She wasn’t backing down, and I knew better than to argue any further. The last five years had taken a lot from her. She had always been slight of height and frame. But the sorrow had stolen any curves away from her body and sharpened the features of her face, leaving her almost frail-looking. Her long hair, once the same copper colour as Haydyn’s and mine, was now entirely grey.

  But, by the gods, she had spirit. It was impossible to win an argument with her, and believe me, over the years, I had tried. It was obvious from where I had inherited my own feistiness and defiance, but she had had years longer than I had to practise. I knew the debate was lost, and I smiled ruefully at her. “Okay, but I won’t stay away all day. I’ll take this bread to the harbour and have a quick browse at the market. Then I can be back in time to help you this afternoon.” A compromise.

  Narrowing her eyes, she smiled at me and said, “No rush, okay?” I returned her smile and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek before I turned to leave with my delivery.

  The morning sunlight left a rose-gold tint on the walls of the traditional, white-fronted buildings that lined the twisting, cobbled streets of Lyte Harbour, the town I had grown up in. Lyte Harbour was a fishing village, and minor trade port, which made up a tiny part of the west coast of the state of Kytara. In turn, Kytara was one of the five states that made up the kingdom of Ankh Shdaar. Or at least it was a kingdom once. But it had been more than a hundred years since a king last ruled over us.

  These days, Ankh Shdaar was a broken country, thrown into despair and war after the death of the last king, Horys, and his only son and heir. Now the five states were each ruled individually by Valhars, men who were hungry for power. None of them wanted to govern a single state forever. All of them aimed to rule the whole country as king one day, and they gave little thought to the lives of common-folk, lost in their battles as they jostled for sovereignty.

  The most infamous of the five Valhars was our own, Lord Odyn Rygard. He ruled Kytara with an iron fist and was as notorious in his thirst for blood as he was for his informal nickname of Keshkana, which literally translated meant “Touched by Death”.

  I had never seen Lord Odyn, as we lived too far from the Capital for him to have ever needed to come here. But he regularly sent his generals scouting throughout Kytara, aiming to recruit more young and able men to his army. They would empty our prisons and our farms alike in their quest for male replenishments for their master’s armed forces, and they didn’t take no for an answer. My father was a casualty of just such a scouting party. He was stolen from us by Lord Odyn’s senior general and closest advisor, Asta
rin Roeseer, five years ago when the last conflict was raging between Kytara and the southern state of Aestaryn, and I hated them both for what they had done to my family.

  Reaching the waterfront, I looked up and down the docks, until I found the merchant ship I was after. Approaching the Swift Anna, I called up to let the Captain know I had his delivery for him.

  “One minute, girl, and I’ll be with you,” the man’s voice floated down to me. Looking around, I spotted a crate, waiting to be loaded on the dockside, so I let my bag of bread and pastries drop to the floor. Smoothing the skirt of my dress. I sat myself down on the wooden box to wait.

  My dress was simple, made of a dark green material which really did complement my auburn hair. The gown was cut in the style common to working class people in Ankh Shdaar. It was long-sleeved and fairly low-necked, cinched at my waist with a thin rope belt which then allowed the skirt to fall to my slippered feet.

  I didn’t own anything that was extravagant. Apart from being a tomboy who hated dressing up, I didn’t have money to spare on luxurious clothing. The bakery made a consistent profit, thanks to the trade status of Lyte Harbour, but it was far from lucrative. We were lucky our income was almost doubled thanks to Haydyn’s work as a blacksmith. Without one or the other, we would be as poor as most others in Lyte Harbour.

  Though I wore a modest gown, it did cling to the curves of my body more than I would prefer. If I had my way, I would have worn the same kind of clothes as my brother: doe skin trousers and a jerkin with comfortable boots. I had from time to time, stolen his clothes when I went out hunting with my bow in the forests which surrounded the town. But my mother really didn’t like it. “A lady shouldn’t hunt,” she would chide. Although she would always gratefully eat the rabbit stew I made when I got home.

  The ship’s captain appeared then, swaggering along the gangplank, he jumped down on to the cobbled waterfront. As he caught proper sight of me, his eyes ran appraisingly over my face and then down my body, bringing a blush to my cheeks and making me acutely aware of how fitted my dress was. This is why I prefer boy’s clothing, I thought to myself. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe thirty at most, and very handsome in a rugged and sea blown kind of way. But I had no interest in flirting. There was my mother, brother, and a bakery to take care of.

  I had known, since my father was taken, that I would never marry or allow myself to fall in love. I couldn’t leave my family. I was now, way past the average age for marriage in Ankh Shdaar. Most girls were wed by the time they were twenty, although men usually waited a little longer, and it wasn’t unusual for a girl to marry a man ten-years her senior. At my age, most of the men ten years older than me would be married by now anyway. But I was entirely at peace with my decision and had no intention of changing my mind.

  “Thank you, miss?” The captain gave me a charming smile and left the question of my name hanging in the air.

  “Miss Chyme,” I replied to him. “Nyssa Chyme.” I gestured to the bag of bread, still on the ground. “Thank you for your business Captain.” Then I turned to walk away. But he wasn’t ready to let me leave just yet. Catching hold of my wrist, he pulled me back toward him.

  “I’m Andre.” His cheerful tone was gone, as he looked at me hungrily. “Could I tempt you to a drink before I depart, Nyssa?” He nodded toward the Mermaids Song, the only bar on the waterfront of Lyte Harbour.

  Frowning, I pulled my wrist back from his grasp, saying, “No thank you. I have somewhere to be.” Turning from him. I walked away, breathing a sigh of relief as he didn’t try to stop me again.

  As I made my way toward the market square, my mind drifted back to thoughts of my father. I couldn’t help it. On days like today, on my own birthday, or on his, I always wondered to myself exactly what had happened to him once we had lost him forever. After my father had been taken by Roeseer, it was just three weeks later we received the news back by letter that he had been killed on the battlefield, on the border between Kytara and Aestaryn. His body was never returned to us so we could bury him and mourn him properly. Instead we had to satisfy ourselves with comforting each other in our shared grief.

  Three thousand men of Kytara were killed at the Battle of the Weeping Stones around the same time as my father, and I would never forget the fighting, or forgive the men who took my father to be a part of it. The only reason my little brother had escaped was because he had been only thirteen at the time, ten years younger than me and too young to be taken for battle. I had held on to this small comfort and thrown myself in to helping my mother with the bakery so she didn’t have to cope alone.

  Now five years later, I was twenty-eight years old and still unmarried, while living and working at the bakery. My mother needed me as the grief of losing my father continued to take its toll on her. So, I had avoided any chance of falling in love or giving away my heart on purpose, choosing instead to always put my family first. Life had never been the same, but we had coped. We made a living and had enough to be comfortable and happy. The shadow of war continued to hang over us and indeed all of our village, but our family had stayed untouched for so long, perhaps we had finally started to forget just how far the man who was “Keshkana” could reach in his quest to dominate Ankh Shdaar.

  I entered the market square from the southern side and immediately became immersed in the noises and the smells of the spices and food scattered throughout the brightly coloured canvas stalls which littered the open space afforded by the square. Traders were yelling their prices in a bid to out-do each other, and customers were loudly haggling with them. Both parties were animatedly trying to secure the best deal for themselves.

  The square itself was created by the stone-built shop buildings that ran around its perimeter, and I paused at the first of these shops in the south-west corner. A fabric shop, filled with silks and satins, cotton, leather, damask and every kind of material you could imagine. In the baskets of pre-cut fabric out the front of the shop a beautiful piece of cream silk with the silhouette of doves printed across it caught my attention. I picked it out from the jumble of other colours and textures, running my fingers over the smooth silk. I could make a beautiful scarf out of this for my mother, I mused. I knew she loved doves, and the peace they symbolised. The colour would suit her well.

  I was so absorbed in my plans for the scrap of fabric, I didn’t notice at first, the sudden lack of sound in the square, but then my ears registered the change. The merchants had stopped yelling, buyers had stopped arguing and haggling, and the general chatter and chaos had been replaced by muted whispers. I looked up and around me. As if coming out of a dream, I was drawn into a nightmare. A dark group of around twenty men on horseback had filtered into the square at the north-east corner. They flew a banner, and each wore a suit of red and black armour, emblazoned with a crest I recognised with a cold, tight fear inside me. The banner depicted a blood-red background with a black shadow of a cat and a sword above it. The banner of Lord Odyn.

  My mind raced wildly, trying to reason with the terror that coursed through my veins. Maybe they were travelling and had just stopped off to rest. Haydyn was eighteen now, and that meant they would likely take him for their army, but perhaps they weren’t here for men, I hoped. As the blind panic welled up and threatened to overwhelm me, the group started to edge closer to my corner of the square, allowing me to make out the face of the lead rider. General Astarin Roeseer, sat proud and terrifying atop his horse. For as much as I hated him for taking my father to his death, I had to admit he was an impressive figure with the backdrop of broken dawn light fragmenting behind him in the morning sky.

  General Roeseer reined in his mount and called out something I couldn’t quite hear from where I stood, wide-eyed in fear, although I strained to listen. But when I saw to whom he was talking, my breath caught in my throat. His attention had fallen on a tall and strong youth of maybe nineteen, who was hauling bags of potatoes for the market green grocer. It was painfully clear to me why his sights had been set on
this boy. I completely forgot the scrap of silken fabric in my hand. My grip loosened as I allowed the terror to take over completely, and the beautiful fabric covered by images of doves fluttered down to land on the hard, stone cobbles at my feet.

  It took less than five seconds for my mind to turn to thoughts of protecting Haydyn, and before I could even stop to think, I found myself running desperately toward the nearest side street, pushing my way through the crowds of people. As I disappeared into the alley way, I thought I heard someone shout, “Girl? Stop!” But I would wait for no one. I was consumed with only one thought, and that was to get to the Smithy as soon as I could. I had to warn Haydyn. I have to hide him from Astarin Roeseer I thought frantically. That bastard had killed my father. He would only take my brother, over my own dead body.

  My feet pounded against the floor as I twisted and turned my way through each street until I could finally see the blacksmith’s forge in the distance. As I approached and tried desperately to get a hold of my ragged breathing, it occurred to me that I needed a way to make sure Haydyn wouldn’t argue with me about leaving. I also had no idea if Symes, the blacksmith, would risk the inevitable punishment for hiding a man of age from The Keshkana’s scouts. A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, and as I settled on the choice I thought most likely to persuade him, I cringed and whispered to myself, “Gods, forgive me.”