AMASKAN’S BLOOD
The Boahim Trilogy Book One
Raven Oak
Grey Sun Press
Seattle, WA
Table of Contents
Blurb
Other titles by...
Dedication
Map of Boahim
Prologue
PART I
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
Continue Reading?
About the Author
Join the Conspiracy!
Amaskan’s Blood
Book One of The Boahim Trilogy
Raven Oak
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Raven Oak
All rights reserved.
The scanning, uploading, copying, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase authorized print or electronic editions. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials hurts everyone. Your support of the arts is appreciated. For information, address: info@greysunpress.com
First printing: January 2015
Cover art by Jamie Noble
Map by Raven Oak
ISBN: 978-0-9908157-2-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014960295
Grey Sun Press
PO Box 1635
Bothell, WA 98041
www.greysunpress.com
Books by Grey Sun Press may be obtained for educational, business, or promotional purposes. For more information, please contact: Grey Sun Press, PO Box 1635, Bothell, WA 98041, info@greysunpress.com
This book is dedicated to my husband.
My biggest cheerleader, supporter, beta-reader extraordinaire,
and most of all, my best friend.
You are still everything.
PROLOGUE
The Forest of Alesta, in the Year of Boahim 235
She was thirsty.
Thirsty was an understatement. Her tongue felt thick beneath the sour cloth jammed in her mouth, and Iliana swallowed hard. Tree branches thick with leaves whipped her shoulders as they passed. She did her best to make herself small, invisible, if only so the big one would stop looking at her.
His eyes—pale blue moons set in skin so dark Iliana couldn’t tell what was skin and what was fabric. All three Amaskans wore solid black from head to foot. No ornamentation or lacings. Just tight, black silk, bound at the waist and wrists.
The same black fabric that bound her wrists together.
The big one glanced over his shoulder as the horses galloped through the forest. They traveled as fast as the muddy terrain allowed, which wasn’t fast enough as the big one shouted a lot and gestured—all stabbing fingers and waving hands. They spoke to one another in a strange language—but Iliana knew when they talked about her. They called her moquesh.
Bait.
Most of the words were foreign, but that one bore enough similarity to Alexandrian that she could guess the meaning. Another tree branch slapped her, this time across the cheek, and she closed her eyes against more tears.
Why had her father sent her away? The big one peered over his shoulder again, and she shuddered. It didn’t help that rain poured down overhead—hard enough that not even the trees’ thick canopy could block it out.
Had she been allowed to talk, she would’ve asked for a cloak. Either way she’d probably still be wet. The gag left Iliana able to do little more than groan as they traveled. And to think. And cry. Iliana stuck her bottom lip out, which trembled as she sobbed against the black rag.
She hadn’t really thought her father would send her away. Tears rolled down her cheeks to mix with thick raindrops. Papa, why did you send me away?
Something had been off.
First, there had been her father’s unusual appearance in the playroom. When Iliana and Margaret had raced for him not even the nanny’s lurch forward and stern remarks had protected him from the onslaught of childish arms and legs.
Second, he’d allowed it. They had clambered up his six-foot frame until he balanced one sister on each shoulder.
But the final clue had been his smile. Lines had gathered around his mouth and eyes—lines that multiplied every time another rock hit the side of the castle walls. But as her father had smiled at his twin daughters, his eyes had remained muted and distant.
One moment she was on her father’s shoulder and the next, he had rushed through the castle passageways until he’d reached the stables. Uncle Goefrin had been waiting with the three Amaskans, one of which he had told Papa was his brother. That was the first Amaskan, who led their horses at the front of the line.
They didn’t look like brothers. His nose wasn’t big enough.
Iliana had screamed until they gagged her. Then she’d kicked with her booted feet, but she’d been tossed astride a monster of a horse so ugly and large, she’d clamped her mouth shut out of fear it would buck her. Hands bound to the pommel, they’d left her feet free in the stirrups. A swift kick had done nothing.
The horse had ignored her until one of the Amaskans, a female, had spoken to the gelding. Then the horse had moved forward at a canter. Her father had cried out to her, and Iliana had craned her head and seen Goefrin restraining her father by the shoulders as he shouted her name. Her father’s face had crumbled, and he had hidden it behind his hands as the Amaskans took her away.
He had said it wasn’t safe.
At first, she’d cried too hard to notice much more than a blur as they passed through the city, but as the small group reached the outer walls, blood painted the ground crimson and the cries of the dying left her mute astride her horse. Arrows and rocks flew overhead as they pelted the Alexandrian guards and bounced off stone walls. The clash of steel nearby frightened her, and when the female Amaskan slit the throat of a nearby enemy, Iliana huddled as close as she could to the saddle and shut her eyes tight.
They were already halfway through the forest when she gained the courage to open them, and that was only because her horse stopped. “If you want to live, don’t run. Understand?” the female asked. When Iliana nodded, the woman unbound her hands and lifted her from the horse.
