Welcome to Ardatz, a world created by a falling star. This first book, Uprooted, begins in the twilight section of the darklands of Skymna, and then heads into the brightlands of Muintir.

Chapter 1

Stad, Skymna, Eelarga

6125 AI

It was beyond Hest how one creature could create such a mess, but the pile of manure was nearly spilling over the edges of his wheelbarrow. With a sigh—which did nothing to keep the odor at bay—he pushed the creaking cart from the stable to the heap behind the inn and dumped the load on top, shaking it back and forth to make sure it was completely empty. At least Malene’s garden never wanted for fertilizer. As he walked the stinking cart back into the barn, a horse nickered, and he rubbed the nose that protruded over the limestone wall.

“I need to finish your neighbor’s room, boy. You’ll be fine until your owner comes back,” he comforted the lonesome creature.

It didn’t take long to clean the four stalls, but it was the one chore Hest hated, even if he didn’t usually complain. Unfortunately, on the occasions Torrin had “helped”, it’d ended up with Hest doing the job all over again to get the stalls up to par.

After two more trips, each space was immaculate, and Hest moved on to adding fresh straw. When the stalls were finished, he checked over the rest of the barn to make sure it was ready for the end-of-step rush. Most customers at Tsiki’s Choice were locals, but with Stad being on the main trade route, each step brought at least a few merchants.

“Hest! Hest!” Torrin rushed into the barn and skidded to a halt, kicking up dust and scattering straw. “An Atsegenian’s coming, and a wealthy one at that.”

“And how would you know that?” He ruffled the blond head. “Haven’t been lurking about the gate, have you?”

“No,” the child gulped air, “not this time. I was out with Filip and saw the man. He rides a huge black stallion—“

“Greetings. ‘Tis there no one to take my horse?”

Hest looked up to see a stocky man with an intimidating visage standing in the doorway. The words, although badly accented, were understandable, which was more than Hest could say about most Atsegenians. They generally stuck with Axelian, the trade language, instead of trying to speak Skymnian.

“My apologies, sir.” Hest glared at Torrin for not explaining that the customer was already present, but moved to follow the stranger. “Just finished cleaning out the last of the stalls. Have the perfect spot for your horse.”

“’Tis not an ordinary creature, here.”

Hest stopped in his tracks as he rounded the door frame. Neither Torrin nor the man had lied—the horse was magnificent.

“Li care, Marclua.”

Hest didn’t understand the words, but the horse obviously did, for it ceased its prancing. Hest reached for the reins, but the man pulled them out of reach, eyeing the stable boy with no small amount of misgiving. The motion, however, brushed his cloak aside, for a moment revealing the saber strapped to his side. For the first time, Hest really looked at the man—no, warrior.

His presence was far more commanding than his height ought to have allowed for—he barely came up to Hest’s chin. Piercing eyes, the color of a sky-break after a storm, held his attention, weighing his worth. Hest straightened to his full height; he’d let no man look down on him, especially one who literally couldn’t.

“You will take care of Marclua,” the man ordered flatly, still holding the reins out of Hest’s reach.

“Of course, I will!”

“‘Tis no ordinary creature,” he repeated. “Marclua is my duna antish. You will care for him as you would yourself.”

Hest clenched his teeth. Was this really necessary? It wasn’t as if there was another stable boy in Stad he could go to.

“Yes, sir, I understand. I will treat him the utmost respect.”

As irritating as the man’s condescension may have been, there was no denying the horse’s worth. Not even in a hundred turns would Hest be able to afford such an animal.

Still the man stood, his eyes evaluating Hest and the building, as if deciding whether they were beneath him or not.

“You will give him only the best treatment and only give him small amounts of water every third span until he’s cooled off.”

Hest’s ire got the better of him, and he reached for the reins. “I said I’d take care of him, and I don’t go against my word.”

A fist flashed forward, seizing his tunic and lifting him off his feet. “And I said: you will not harm my duna antish. Nor will you take what is not yours.”

Hest gasped for breath and nodded, squirming against the burly man’s grip, but he made no progress until the warrior set him down of his own accord. Hest coughed, and tamped down on his anger.

“My apologies, sir.” He bowed. “It won’t happen again.”

As he straightened, he saw a flicker of a smile cross the warrior’s solemn face. “No ‘twill not.”

He turned to his horse and spoke again in the foreign language, one which Hest had never heard before, and he’d heard many languages in his eighteen turns. He recognized duna antish and Marclua, but everything else went by too swiftly to catch. Without turning, the man thrust his hand out to Hest.

“Care for him…” he shifted his head to make eye contact, “…or else I will deal with you.”

Hest swallowed. “I’ve given my word. I won’t go against it.”

“See that you do not.” And with that, the warrior left.

“Woah! What was that all about? Did you see how high he lifted you off the ground, Hest?” Torrin’s words rattled together. “Can I take the horse in?”

Ignoring the jabbering boy, Hest held out his hand to the horse. “Marclua, welcome to my humble abode.” Torrin giggled behind him. “Your tuna ay-tooshie is a bully, but I won’t hold that against you.”

The horse swung his massive head to the side.

“None of that.” Hest pulled the reins in tight and led the stallion to the stall he’d just cleaned.

“Do you think he’s been in battles?” Torrin climbed up onto the limestone wall that bounded the enclosure.

“Don’t know. Probably.” Hest hooked a lead rope to the bridle and tied it to an iron hoop on the wall. “The man definitely has. I saw scars on his hands and there’s a small one under his chin.”

“From a sword?”

“Maybe.” He kept his hand on Marclua’s belly and reached to unbuckle the saddle girth. “Could be from a knife, though.”

“How do you know these things?”

Hest grunted and heaved the saddle with its blanket onto the wall beside Torrin. “Make yourself useful and fetch me the curry comb.”

While he waited for the boy, he unstrapped the bridle and eased the bit out, then reached for the stiff-bristled comb that Torrin handed over the wall.

“Unlike you, I’m observant.” Hest explained as he rubbed circles over Marclua’s back and flanks. “I also hear everything people don’t expect me to hear. They talk as if a stable boy has no ears.”

“I know what you mean.” Torrin pulled an apple from his pocket and took a bite.

“Don’t give that to him. The warrior will have my hide!”

Torrin looked at the fruit and frowned. “I wasn’t going to. Besides, it’s almost too far gone. Must’ve been too old when the merchant bought it.” He shrugged and took another bite; whatever the quality, Hest would have done the same. Fruit was too precious to waste.

Once the stallion gleamed in the lamplight, Hest went looking for a halter that would fit Marclua, but the stallion was simply too huge, so he rigged one out of rope, then led the horse to the water trough in the inn’s courtyard. Laughter and music floated out the open window—the dinner crowd had assembled. Hest vaguely wondered how the warrior handled crowds. Probably sits off in a corner on his own.

“Torrin! Get your scrawny self in here. Mother needs you!” Maya called from the kitchen door. Seeing Hest, she flushed and smoothed her skirtsthen brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder with a shy wave. “I’ll save you some stew, Hest, and something to drink.”

“Thanks!” He watched her lithe form as she sauntered back to the kitchen, a smile playing across his face. How one girl could scatter his thoughts to the wind, he didn’t know.

“Come on, Marclua.” He urged the stallion forward. “Seems like we don’t have any other visitors coming through. I might as well get my food while it’s hot.”

The horse huffed, and Hest laughed. “So, you do know how to talk to people, huh? Thought so.” He rubbed Marclua’s nose, then turned the horse into the stall and returned with a generous portion of their best grain. “Wish you could tell me where you’re from, other than the obvious. What’s it like where the sky’s bright? Is it true there’s no need of lamps ever?”

Hest didn’t believe the tales he’d heard about Atsegena, but then again, people said that further north in Eelarga you wouldn’t have been able to see your hand in front of your face if Handi and Tsiki didn’t make their turn through the sky. But even stranger stories than that came through a trade-road inn; who knew what was and what wasn’t? Hest took a final glance around to be sure all was in order, then shut the barn door and headed back through the eternal twilight toward the savory scents of food.

He thought again of Maya’s face and what words they might share when the meal was over and the patron were getting quiet and sleepy on their last drinks. The horses, the inn, and one step a family of his own—it was a good life, and enough for him. Even if he had to endure the occasional imposing, superior customer.

More about the book

Uprooted is available wherever fine books are sold. It’s the first in the series, Sovereigns, set in the larger world of Four Stars over Ardatz.