The Wizard's Heir Read online

  Cover Design by Phatpuppy Art

  Cover logo/font by Whit and Ware

  First American Edition Published in 2015 by Superstorm Productions, LLC

  ISBN 978-1-941994-15-3

  The Wizard’s Heir

  2015 Copyright by Superstorm Productions, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Superstorm Productions, LLC, except for the inclusion of brief quotations and acknowledgement of author.

  Excepting fan art, of course. All fan art and fan fiction is welcome, applauded, and encouraged.

  Website address: superstormproductions.wordpress.com

  Author website: devriwalls.com

  Rights & requests mail: [email protected]

  Other Works by Devri Walls

  The Solus Series

  Book one: Wings of Arian

  Book two: Wings of Tavea

  Book three: Wings of Nestor

  Book four: Wings of Lomay

  Coming Soon:

  Venators

  Book one: Through the Arch

  Thanks to my family who support me whole heartedly, even if that means dinner’s late.

  To my fans, your messages mean the world to me. Thank you for loving my work as much as I do.

  Tybolt stared into the fire, kicking his heel repeatedly against the wooden chair leg. He knew it irritated his mother, which was exactly why he was doing it. The thuds resonated through their small kitchen.

  The bread for dinner rested just inside the stone baking area above the fireplace. It had begun to brown on top, filling the room with its heavenly aroma. That, mixed with the salty smell of the ocean, was the scent he loved most. Home.

  His mother reached inside the fireplace with a long wooden spoon and stirred the black kettle that bubbled with fish stew. “Tybolt.” She sighed at his refusal to acknowledge her. “You’re too young to understand.”

  “You lied to me,” he repeated stubbornly.

  She tapped the spoon on the edge of the kettle and sat it down on the small table to her right. “I didn’t lie to you. I misled you.”

  He crossed his arms and scowled. “You always say lying by omission is still lying.”

  “I do say that. But you don’t fully understand the situation.”

  “Did Myla know?”

  “Myla is almost thirteen.” His mother sat across from him and grabbed his hand. “It’s complicated, Tybolt, and you are too young to understand.”

  “I’m almost ten!”

  She smiled—the smile she wore when trying not to laugh, knowing it would infuriate him. He jerked his hand free. “Don’t laugh at me!”

  “You’ll be a good man someday, a great man. A man with many responsibilities. But that day is not yet here. You’re still a boy. Someday you will meet your father, I promise.”

  Tybolt’s ears burned, and his stomach rolled into tight knots of fury. “I saw him—he was here! You told me he was dead!”

  “What were you doing outside, anyway?”

  “The dumb dog got loose,” he mumbled. “I went down to the beach to get him.” The stupid dog always got loose, and he’d been half a mile down the beach barking ferociously at the waves. It had taken some time to convince the mutt to come home. As Tybolt had started up the steps from the beach, he’d seen his mother in the upper window of the lighthouse wrapped in the arms of a man. The fire that kept the ships safe from the rocks blazed behind them, shattering his reality in brilliant illumination.

  But instead of true revelations the light only mocked him, backlighting his mother and his father and offering nothing more than the outline of the man he thought was dead. He still wasn’t sure what fed his rage the most—that his mother had made him think his father was dead, or that his father hadn’t cared enough to introduce himself to his son.

  A gust of wind slapped the side of the lighthouse. The timbers creaked and groaned in protest, and the cold air from the incoming storm seeped uninvited through the edges of the aging windowpanes. Tybolt looked up. The storm had formed suddenly, even for this area.

  His mother’s demeanor changed in an instant. Her eyes darted to the glass. She stood and walked gracefully to the window, moving like all Deviants—with inhuman ease.

  The Deviants possessed a specific kind of beauty: fierce sharp features, green eyes, and dark hair. His mother was stunning, his sister the same. They had speed, strength, grace, and beauty. It should have made them beloved, but they were also immune to Wizard magic, and for that they were hated.

  Tybolt shared all their features and skills, with the exception of his blue eyes. He was an enigma among enigmas. And he wondered for the first time if maybe his father had blue eyes. His sour mood returned. “He doesn’t love me,” Tybolt snapped. “He never has and he never will.”

  The room darkened with the storm. The fire from the oven cast light and shadows across his mother’s face that emphasized her high cheek bones and thin nose. “That is not true.”

  His sister hopped down the stairs five at a time and slid into the room, the spitting image of their mother. “A storm is rolling in faster than I’ve ever seen,” Myla said breathlessly. “Wizard-made for sure.”

  His mother touched her fingers to the pane. “He said this would happen,” she whispered.

  Myla took a step towards the window. “What is it?”

  A long, low roll of thunder rumbled and the wind increased. The lighthouse protested heavily under the attack. “I hate him!” Tybolt yelled. “And I hate you for loving him more than me.”

  His mother jerked back as if she’d been slapped, her green eyes wide. Tybolt bolted up, chest heaving, and the chair clattered to the floor. He ran out the door.

  The wind was stronger than he’d realized. It shoved him to the side. Redistributing his weight, he leaned forward and pushed headlong into it. He turned to go down the stairs, but the waves had already enveloped the beach and were crashing against the base of the cliff their lighthouse sat on. He looked up. The sky was black, lined with purple and grays. Myla was right—the storm was wizard-made for sure.

  “Tybolt!” He barely heard his mother above the wind. He looked over his shoulder to see her coming for him. Deep down he felt a twinge a guilt for what he’d said, but anger reigned and he was not ready to take it back. He sprinted across the grass, aiming for the wispy trees that grew away from the cliff. The dry grass rasped around his legs.

  Suddenly the earth under his feet rolled and the sound of thunder stopped him—thunder not from above, but below. He lost his balance and fell, banging his elbow on a rock. The ground continued to reel and moan as if in pain. Tybolt pushed up.

  Wizard storms were nothing new. It was how they survived in this drought-plagued rock. But this—this was far more than that. A sheet of rain rushed in from the ocean, covering the distance in moments, dulling his vision and drenching him.

  The ground shook violently, and fractures appeared all around. The earth to the side of him opened and spread apart like gaping, muddy jaws.

  His mother yelled something that he couldn’t hear over the storm, then she turned and ran back towards the lighthouse. A bright bolt of lightning dropped, illuminating the world for a moment before it crashed into the top of his home. His mother fell backwards as the building burst into flames.

  Tybolt ran for his mother. The door of the lighthouse opened and his sister stumbled out, her figure blurred through the rain. Ahead of him a loud crack sounded, distinctly different than thunder, then another crack, and then the entire cliff face gave way.

  Myla leapt, body outstretched,
but wasn’t fast enough. The lighthouse tumbled out of view, her with it, down to the ocean below.

  “Myla!” Tybolt screamed.

  His mother slid to her knees, looking over the edge of the cliff.

  The rain stung his face and arms as he ran. Lightning struck again. The grass burst into flames despite being drenched. He’d almost reached his mother when the ground trembled and collapsed. She dropped from view.

  Tybolt leapt over a fracture that was easily four feet wide and growing. He slipped in the mud at the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees. “Mother!” he cried.

  She hung just below the rim, her fingers clawing into the side. She looked up at him, her hair plastered over her face from the pelting rain. Below them the sea thrashed and churned over the broken remains of the lighthouse like a boiling soup.

  Tybolt lay flat and leaned over, barely managing to wrap his fingers around her wrist. The moment he did, the dirt she’d been holding onto crumbled and fell into the ocean.

  “Tybolt, I’m sorry,” she cried over the wind. “I should’ve told you.”

  “It’s all right, just—let’s get you safe,” he shouted, feeling smaller than he’d ever remembered feeling.

  The fracture he’d leapt over a moment ago widened again and moved towards them. His mother shook her head, “Get away from here, Tybolt, run.”

  “No! I will not lose you.”

  “Listen to me. You’re in danger. This is not an ordinary storm, it’s—”

  “I know, Mother, its wizard-made. Come on.” He inched backwards on his belly, trying to pull her up. But Deviant or not, he was only ten and just beginning to come into his abilities. He could barely raise her an inch.

  The ground rocked beneath him, and his mother’s hand was wrenched from his. “No!” he screamed, reaching for her.

  Everything slowed, and the wind seemed to quiet to a dull roar. She fell backwards, her hair and dress twisting around her as if alive. Her eyes were fixed on his, and through his horror he saw her mouth moving.

  He only heard one word over the wind—Aja.

  He was aware yet unaware of the storm. The wind had grown stronger still. Lightning flashed around him. Sections of the cliff continued to dissolve up and down the coast, sliding into the sea. But all he could see was the frothy white water that had swallowed up everything he loved in the world.

  He didn’t know how much time passed before he was lifted into the arms of another. He looked up at a man he’d never seen before—tall, with brown hair and light blue eyes. Was he a blue-eyed Hunter too? The man didn’t look at him. He was busy mumbling words that Tybolt didn’t understand.

  Still carrying Tybolt, the man leapt over the fracture. It felt more like they were floating rather than jumping—it took too long and the landing was softer than it should’ve been. Tybolt couldn’t bring himself to care. The man threw him over the front of his horse and climbed up behind.

  Tybolt knew he should be afraid. Instead he felt nothing, nothing but a heaviness deep in his soul that he knew would never go away.

  Tybolt awoke to a bed and a fire. He didn’t know where he was, but the man who’d grabbed him from the cliff sat in a chair across from him. Those blue eyes stared at him with an expression he couldn’t identify.

  “Father?” Tybolt said.

  The man’s eyes brimmed with tears, but he shook his head. “No, boy,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m not your father. My name is…” He hung his head and stared at the floor. “Hess. And I will take care of you.”

  “Oh.” He turned his back to the man and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

  8 years later

  Tybolt huffed in irritation. This hunt was supposed to be easy.

  He and Auriella had stalked the wizards for half a day. Their plan was near perfect. They would snag them, tie them to the back of the horses, return them to King Rowan, and collect their bounty—just like always. But these wizards had a little more fire than most—and a fair dose of creativity. Suffice it to say, things were not going as planned.

  Tybolt grabbed the second wizard, yanked his arms behind his back, and shoved the cuffs on his wrists. The wizard yelled out a spell, and Tybolt felt the sting of magic roll around him. It didn’t matter if the wizards knew he was immune to their powers—they always tried anyway. This one was still muttering spells, and Tybolt didn’t realize what he was up to until a loud crack echoed through the forest.

  Hunters were immune to magic, but the trees certainly weren’t.

  “Auriella,” Tybolt shouted. “A little help here!”

  A pine tree careened towards them. Its limbs snapped off one by one as it crashed through the surrounding trees. Tybolt grabbed the wizard and threw him out of the way, diving after.

  The pine slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt and needles. Apparently the wizard would rather be crushed to death than go to the Hold—can’t say that he blamed him.

  The wizard squirmed on his belly like an inchworm, his mouth still moving with spell work.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Tybolt grunted. He threw himself on top of the wizard and pulled a gag from his back pocket.

  “Tybolt!” Auriella’s voice rang through the trees.

  The wizard jerked his head to the side, searching for the owner of the voice, his lips still moving. Tybolt shoved the gag in his mouth before the wizard could finish whatever he was attempting.

  “Over here,” Tybolt shouted back.

  The man groaned and writhed beneath him, trying to buck Tybolt off. But it was too late. The iron cuffs restricted his magic, and the gag prevented him from speaking enchantments. This wizard was no better than an ordinary man now. Tybolt was a Hunter—stronger, faster, and born to fight wizards.

  Tybolt leaned back on his heels and coughed into the crook of his elbow, trying to free his lungs of the dust and dirt he’d inadvertently sucked in.

  Auriella dropped from an overhead branch with a flip and landed neatly on her feet. She straightened, looking first at the fallen tree and then at Tybolt. “What happened here?”

  He swiped his arm across his mouth and raised his eyebrows. “I was almost crushed to death. Thanks for your concern.”

  “Hmm.” Auriella smirked. “I’m glad you survived.”

  “Clearly. Did you get him?”

  “No. I don’t know what happened. He just…vanished.”

  Tybolt felt the wizard beneath him relax. The traitor’s son had escaped. “Spawn of Asa,” he swore. “They can’t just vanish.”

  “I know that,” she snapped. “One minute I was chasing him, and the next minute he was gone. I moved up to the trees for a better view, but saw nothing.”

  “Two wizards instead of three. The king will be thrilled.”

  “We won’t tell him there were three.” Auriella looked around. “Where’s the second one anyway?”

  Tybolt jerked his head in the direction he’d left the first wizard.

  She leapt over a fallen tree with no more effort than a normal man would’ve hopped over a stick. A moment later Auriella poked her head back through the branches, dangling a pair of cuffs from her finger. “They can’t just vanish, huh? Looks like yours just did.”

  “Blood and bones! After this one tried to kill us both with that tree, he kept chanting. He must’ve spelled those cuffs off the other one.” Tybolt stood and jerked the wizard to his feet. The man turned limp as a rag doll, refusing to help his captors return him for the king’s punishment.

  Auriella placed a hand on her hip and eyed Tybolt as he struggled to make the wizard cooperate. “Do you need some help?”

  Tybolt chuckled to himself. “Oh, now she’s available to help.” He hoisted the man over his shoulder. “I could’ve used your help earlier when I was almost crushed to death…or when our meal ticket ran off.”

  “My apologies. I was busy chasing the wizard’s son. I believe you know which one—he ran right past you.

  “Excuses, Auriella.” Tybolt grunted as
he pushed the wizard farther back on his shoulder. “Always excuses.”

  Their camp was located in the thicker part of the forest. They’d chosen it specifically to act as a natural blind, concealing the sleeping platforms they’d secured in the trees. They would need to build another platform for the wizard. If they left him on the ground, he would be a meal for a mountain lion by morning. Given the choice, the wizard would most certainly prefer the lion. But no Wizard, no bounty.

  Tybolt secured their catch by tying him to a tree, then went to work chopping branches for the platform. Auriella busied herself with the fire. Tybolt couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of his eye.

  She was stunning, even by Hunter standards. Her dark hair hung between her shoulder blades in a glossy sheet. The hard planes of her face were broken up by large, almond-shaped eyes and long eyelashes. The gold flecks in her green eyes nearly brought him to his knees.

  “Stop it,” Auriella said.

  “Stop what?” Tybolt threw another split log onto the stack.

  “Stop staring at me with those freaky blue eyes of yours.”

  “Freaky!” Tybolt dropped his ax and clutched his chest. “Auriella, that hurts.”

  “Please, half the kingdom is panting over those blue eyes. Don’t pretend your feelings are hurt.”

  “I am not pretending. I’m crushed. And I think you should know that I wasn’t staring at you. I was simply debating whether or not I should tell you . . . there’s an absolutely enormous spider on your shoulder.”

  Auriella yelped and leapt to her feet, swatting at her shoulder.

  “See, that’s why I didn’t say anything.” He shrugged. “You always overreact.”

  “Tybolt.” She huffed. “Just…get to work.”

  “Of course, My Lady.” Tybolt lowered his head. His shoulder-length hair fell forward, covering his smile. “Your wish is my command.”

  She pursed her lips and shoved a handful of dried pine needles underneath the wood she’d stacked. “You know, Tybolt, I would really like to hate you.”