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  Sight Beyond Epik Sight

  Epik Fantasy Book 3

  William Tyler Davis

  Copyright © 2018 by William Tyler Davis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-10: 0-9991153-2-4

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9991153-2-9

  To my mother who raised me to be the man I am today.

  The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.

  Sir Terry Pratchett

  Contents

  1. The Winds of Winter (publication TBD)

  2. The Aeronaut’s Windchill

  3. Tech Mage

  4. A Discovery of Witches

  5. Taken

  6. Cloud Atlas

  7. Something Wicked That Way Goes

  8. Avoid Wraiths

  9. Snow Crashed

  10. A Midwinter Night’s Dream

  11. Wraith and Wood

  12. A Conjuring of Life

  13. The Shadow of What Was Found

  14. Moving Spirits

  15. The Wise Woman’s Fear

  16. Days Between Stations

  17. Tender is the Night

  18. Twilight

  19. The Once and Current King

  20. The Lies of Gertrude

  21. The Hunger Pains

  22. The Short Journey in the Dark

  23. Brendan’s Bane

  24. The Not-So-Great Train Robbery

  25. Witches Contained

  26. The Book of Lost Things

  27. City of Bones

  28. Preludes to a Nocturne

  29. The Girl with the New Gift

  30. Decent Omens

  31. Bedknob and Broken Sticks

  32. The Truth (part 2)

  33. Practical Shadowkeeping

  34. Marvelously Dreaming Myra

  35. Ghostwritten

  36. The Crew of the Phoenix

  37. Timeline

  38. Fluke

  39. The Last Battle

  40. The Names on the Wind

  41. The Magic U Give

  42. Many Partings

  43. Epilogue

  The End

  Footnotes

  Acknowledgments

  1

  The Winds of Winter (publication TBD)

  Winter wasn’t coming. No, in the coastal kingdom of Dune All-En she had already reared her ugly head. There, the roofs sagged with frost and on their eaves hung icicles—a sure sign Lady Winter held the city within her clutches.

  From the Wall and through Jersy, Madhattan to Kings, in all of Dune All-En’s boroughs, there was a smattering of snow on the ground—most of which was white. Well, except along the cobblestoned lanes where the snow was caked with black tar. And, obviously, not on the walkways where it was brown with mud. Then, of course, some wasn’t white at all but yellow and red—made that way by unmentionable yellow and red things.

  The city itself could breathe1 again, if only for a short while. The invaders from King’s Way were knocked asunder. And after several battles over the past months, the enemy was out of sight but not out of mind.

  Reminders in the form of three airships droned overhead. They floated in the air, strange silhouettes against the pale moon. These dirigibles kept a watchful eye on the city’s borders—both land and sea.

  But not so keen an eye on the city itself. Because unbeknownst to the ships high above, a shadow skulked through the streets—and not just any shadow, but a halfling’s, and not just any halfling, but one by the name of Epik Stout.

  The shadow slipped along the walls, down alleyways, and up to the castle on the cliff above the sea. Through the castle gates, past the guards it went, and it slipped into King Epiman’s throne room as silent as a shade.

  Inside, the king scribbled a pen upon parchment. He was alone. The scratching was made louder by the absence of any other sound. So it surprised the shadow when King Epiman did not look up but instead spoke into the silent night.

  “It’s been a while,” he said airily. “I was beginning to wonder… Is everything okay with Epik?”

  “Yes, father.” The shadow danced down the walls until it reached the silhouette cast by the king’s desk. But the space where Epiman’s shadow should have been seated was a void—the king’s shadow had met a grim fate only a few months prior.

  “You don’t have to call me father,” Epiman said. “Technically, a shadow—”

  “I like to call you father,” the shadow cut in. “Even Epik has started to do so.”

  “Has he now?” Epiman looked truly interested. He set the pen on his parchment and gave Epik’s shadow his undivided attention.

  “Often,” the shadow confirmed, “though mostly when he’s frustrated or worried or…” the shadow trailed off.

  “Go on,” Epiman encouraged.

  The shadow stumbled over the words. “Well, now that I look back on it, I guess it’s only when Epik’s filled with emotion—any emotion. Isn’t that curious?”

  “Is it?” Epiman picked up the pen and twirled it idly in his spindly fingers. “No, I don’t think that’s odd at all. What I do think is Epik needs to better control his emotions. Do those witches not tell him as much?”

  “Yes, the Coven, they do remind him.”

  “And how is the rest of his training coming along?”

  The shadow faltered. “It’s, um, it’s a bit disjointed… They’re burdened by the influx of students—that Epik and Kavya have sought out.”

  “I see.” Epiman dropped the pen again and rubbed at his temples. “It was never my intention for them to go to such great lengths. They’re putting a bigger target on their backs with each passing day, aren’t they? The more they steal my father’s potential engines, the more peril they’re in. Still,” Epiman ran his fingers through his shaggy salt and pepper hair, “they’re doing the realm a great service. And my father’s pinned inside his castle. I’ve never known him to shy away from war like this. His troops have all but retreated all the way back to King’s Way.”

  “You think he’s readying a counteroffensive?”

  “Obviously.”

  “And he still holds World’s Eye,” the shadow interjected.

  “Yes, obviously. Therein lies our current problem,” Epiman said. “We’ve driven back his troops. He’s lost wraiths by the dozens. But there is still a steady trickle of supplies between World’s Eye and King’s Way.”

  “You speak of the Tenebris Trail?”

  “Is that what they’re calling it?” Epiman laughed.

  “Yes, I’ve heard his troops speak the name,” the shadow said. “But no matter how I search I have yet to find such a trail. Where the sidewalk ends, there’s nothing outside each city indicating a path.”

  “Interesting.”

  “May I ask how you know of it? I thought I was your spy.”

  “No,” Epiman grunted. “You are Epik’s spy—not mine.” The king shook his head, steepling his fingers. “While I enjoy our conversations, your loyalty is wasted on me. I have my own spies, my own network of eyes and ears. In fact, one spy has eyes on the trail as we speak.”

  Across the realm, Captain Todder’s eyes twitched, one and then the other. They were the only part of him that he controlled. The rest of his body was owned and operated by someone else—the Grand Sovereign.

  So, too, were the bodies of the troops around him. Inside
they all had souls wrestling to get out. But unlike Todder, their eyes weren’t able to search for escape. They wore vacant, dull expressions. And not a one made eye contact, even as Todder desperately tried to get them to.

  Todder lifted a crate. Its contents shifted, sounding like falling rocks. He carried the crate from the center of a dark and dank warehouse to a carriage waiting outside—a funny looking carriage with no horses. And like the rest of the realm, the carriage and the track it stood upon was dusted by snow.

  The day before, he’d moved these very same crates from a carriage on the opposite side the building. And tomorrow, he’d probably find himself doing something much the same.

  If Todder did have feeling in the rest of his body, it would feel cold. A glimpse of his bluish-purple fingers through the holes in his gloves told him as much. He wondered if he should start using his eyes to watch for frostbite, but what could he do if it did set in?

  Another box, another clatter of shifting rock. Only a small part of Todder cared what was inside the boxes. Only a small part of Todder cared about anything at all. Todder was withered inside and out, a dried and wrinkled raisin of his former self.

  He must’ve sighed because an icy cloud of breath formed before his face. Then, not for the first time, Todder heard a voice inside him say, don’t give up hope.

  Back in the throne room, the shadow’s foot tapped anxiously. And silently.

  “I wasn’t aware you had other spies. I thought, well, I thought since your shadow um—”

  “Died. Yes, it’s hard, even for me, to fathom he’s gone. He was a trusted ally and friend.”

  “I just thought,” Epik’s shadow went on, “that I could serve in his stead.”

  Epiman smiled, not unkindly. “That’s a generous offer. It really is. But as I told you before, you belong to Epik. You should learn to trust him.”

  “Then he should learn to trust you,” the shadow said firmly.

  “No, no, it’s not me Epik needs to trust.”

  “Then who?”

  “Before this is over,” Epiman said, “before the close, Epik has to learn to trust himself—to trust in magic, to know when to wield it, when not to,” Epiman’s face darkened, “or when to let it flow out of him like a rushing river to the sea.”

  “Easier said than done.” The shadow shrugged. “Can I ask,” it asked, “what are these supplies the Grand Sovereign’s troops ship from World’s Eye? Is it food or water? Swords and bows?”

  “Ship,” Epiman said, “is an apropos word choice.” He rocked back in his chair and said, “It is my understanding that one of my father’s tech mages has learned a new art. He’s learned the capabilities of steam.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid.”

  The candlelight flickered and the shadow twisted on the wall in an animated manner. “Then we must do something about this trail!”

  “Oh, we are,” Epiman said coolly. “I have my best man on the job.”

  2

  The Aeronaut’s Windchill

  The air was colder than cold—so cold there was heat to it. And likely some magic to it as well because the cold forced the body to do things unnatural and against the owner’s will. Teeth chattered, flesh goosed, and legs shook uncontrollably with neither rhythm or reason. Despite these conditions, Brendan’s crew were on the deck of the airship, manning, and some womanning, their stations.

  High above the realm, the ship creaked. It lurched sideways as a bitter wind tore across the deck. The rigging groaned, stretching taut. And the ship swung like a pendulum under the blimp holding it aloft. The ship’s groans weren’t the only ones to be heard.

  With his sleeve, Brendan wiped vomit from his cheek. His cloak whipped in the wind as he made his way to his post. The icy chill dug deep and Brendan fought through the pain, clenching his teeth. They began to chatter immediately when he spoke. “REPORT!”

  The word hung in the air like the clouds around the ship.

  None of the crew questioned Brendan’s orders to stay on deck through the night. They never questioned any of his orders—not a one. Brendan couldn’t help but wonder why—was he really such a great leader? Perhaps. But then again, he thought, there might be something else at play.

  A smattering of replies came in answer.

  “Nothing here, sir.”

  “Nothing to report, Skipper.”

  “Sir!” a voice rang out.

  From the crow’s nest just below the blimp, with a surprisingly smooth motion, a crewman closed a spyglass and hurried down the Jacob’s ladder, feet fairily dancing on the rungs to the deck below.

  Brendan met him at the wheelhouse.

  “What is it, crewman?” he asked.

  “It’s, uh, crew-lady, sir,” the girl said. Her voice wasn’t high-pitched, rather a mellow alto. Her hair was short and darker than the night sky. Her eyes, too, were shadow-black. The girl had roundish cheeks, but her chin was boyish still, and her lips were full. A crew-lady, yes, but not yet a crew-woman.

  “Amber, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s right.”

  “All right, Amber. What do you have for me?”

  “A fire, sir—a campfire, about five klicks east.”

  “So, not toward King’s Way?” She shook her head. “Thank you,” he said.

  Brendan went to the railing and peered down, then held out his hand for the spyglass. Amber grudgingly complied.

  “Just that way, sir.” She pointed.

  Brendan raised the spyglass to his eye. Then he closed it and stood there a moment pointing his finger this way and that, first toward King’s Way, then to the mountains east of them, next in the direction of World’s Eye. He nodded, chewing his lip.

  “A quarter turn starboard, Peter,” Brendan ordered the boy at the ship’s helm. Peter, the redhaired pilot of the ship, was just visible in the wheelhouse.

  The airship lurched again, slipping sideways a few moments before correcting.

  “All right, Amber,” Brendan said. “Go get some chow and some sleep.”

  “I can stay on watch, sir, if that’s all right with you.” She grabbed at her spyglass, still in Brendan’s hands.

  Instinctively, he pulled the hand away. The small fragile object slipped in Brendan’s grip and clattered to the deck.

  “If this is because I’m a girl, sir...” She ducked down to retrieve it, bumping Brendan’s head as he did likewise.

  “It’s not because you’re a girl.” Brendan rubbed his scalp. “In fact, all of you get down to the mess. Get a hot meal and a couple hours of sleep. If this campfire is what I think it is… Well, I’ll need you all at battle stations at dawn’s first light. Dismissed!”

  The aeronauts retreated below. Brendan stayed topside, taking over for Peter, his eyes fixed on the distant light. The ship inched toward it.

  3

  Tech Mage

  With his hairy feet safe but not-so-safe on solid ground, Epik roamed the streets of World’s Eye like a shadow—better than a shadow, really. Under his spell, the halfling was as invisible as a passing wind, one that smelled piney like Decemberween2. The holiday had just passed without its usual fanfare—war does things like that.

  The streets themselves were filled with and smelled of smoke. Torches hung sporadically down long causeways, casting eerie orange glows against the snow on the ground.

  The curled tufts of hair on Epik’s feet were covered in frost but his feet were no colder than the rest of him.

  Millie crept down the street behind him. Her footfalls made soft crunching beats in the snow, but her tracks vanished as quickly as they were made. She, too, was under Epik’s spell. In her hand behind her, she waved a small stick of a wand back and forth, back and forth. This odd motion had become as natural as blinking, she had done it so often in the past weeks.

  “Epik,” she whispered. “What if… What if it’s—?”

  “It’s a trap?” Epik whispered back. He stopped and shook his h
ead. “No, I shouldn’t think so.”

  Millie nodded. In true childish fashion, she was about to ask another question when Epik put his small finger to his lips—a halfling sized finger, smaller than Millie’s, and he motioned with a quick jerk of his head for her to follow down a dark alley.

  What if she’s right? Epik’s insides tugged. What if this is a trap? What if you’re wrong? Don’t traps often begin in dark alleyways?

  For the tenth time that evening, Epik drew a breath, closed his eyes and reached for the magic Kavya had gifted him.

  Kavya, Epik’s friend, his exclusive special friend—his girlfriend—had the power to sense other magical beings. They had used her powers to find the Coven, a group of witches known throughout the realm for their good deeds… and their bad, depending on whose side of the story you believed.

  After the formalities, introductions, the stakes explained, the Coven’s witches agreed to help Epik and his companions on their quest.

  The problem: Epik wasn’t exactly sure what that quest truly entailed. He sort of made it up as he went—kind of like the barroom nonsense of Frank Biggle back at home in the Bog.

  Epik’s grandmother, Ashah, had asked that Epik learn magic properly, her dying request. After gifting him the remainder of her magic, she asked that he seek knowledge not just from the books he owned but from these women who had taught magic for centuries to pupils across the continent.