The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 1

The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage

Fall of the Sages, Book 1

Jada Fisher

Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination and / or used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by J Caleb Design

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

Thank You

Bishta

The air along the Silvine Road sent chills down the spine of Bishta the Black. The cold mountain air continuously descended from the Halendales and kept the region in a perpetual state of winter, even though it was the peak of summer. Bishta did her best to ignore the temperature. She hadn’t dressed for it in the slightest, but she knew that warmth was coming since the Silvine Road would soon converge with the Galvine Road that ran all along the Red Cliffs and down to the Bridge of Memories.

In a few days’ time, she would cross that bridge and her search for justice would truly begin.

A particularly nasty gust of wind blew against Bishta’s back and bit at her exposed, pale skin. She glanced at her slender arms and saw that they were covered with goosebumps. With one hand holding her black iron staff, she struggled to pull her gray cloak more tightly around her. It didn’t do much good as her legs were still mostly exposed to the elements.

Cursing, she pressed forward. She couldn’t believe that with the thousands of lifetimes of her sage memories, not one of them contained a spell or charm for warmth or fire. Several millennia of knowledge and none of it was any use in keeping her warm.

I bet Reshni has plenty of spells to keep her warm on that pretty little throne of hers.

It was no matter. Bishta was comforted in the warming fact that her long journey would soon be at an end, and she, Bishta the Black, Sage of the Dark would have the paradise she desired.

Several more hours of relentless cold passed and Bishta didn’t know how much longer she could handle it, but by the grace of the old gods, the road curved around a particularly dense thicket of trees and then revealed a quaint little inn tucked in a small clearing. The brick-and-wood structure looked fairly new and nice and most importantly, warm. Thick gray smoke billowed from the chimney that rose high above the second floor.

Bishta was hesitant, though. She wanted—no, craved—the warmth that the inn provided, but there were six horses tied up in front of the inn, which meant that there were at least six other patrons present. There could be even more, and Bishta was not keen on drawing any undue attention. She always drew unwanted attention. Still, her growling stomach and shivering arms propelled her forward. She could handle who or whatever was inside, for she was a sage and all before her were nothing but ants.

As she approached the entrance, she could hear a lot of loud, rowdy voices coming from within. Plenty of laughing, too, and what sounded like the clanging of glass against glass. A bunch of drunken men was something that Bishta would rather not deal with, but again, she would deal with them if the need arose.

She pushed open the wooden door and entered the humble inn. All the noise ceased. The room was dimly lit by the occasional candle, and the air was hazy with smoke from a henshen pipe. The sweet aroma of hena smoke wafted up Bishta’s nostrils. It was a pleasant smell, but it was lost on her as she surveyed the room. Nine very large, very drunk men stared hungrily at her from their messy assortment of tables on the far side of the room.

Bishta wished that she had dressed more appropriately. Her exposed arms and legs and bare feet made her look vulnerable. She pulled her cloak as tightly as she could around herself to hide her naked flesh. She grabbed a table close to the entrance and waved the innkeeper over.

The room remained in heavy silence as the skinny young innkeeper sauntered over to Bishta’s table. He looked nervous for her, as he kept glancing back at the nine drunks and his body shook slightly as he did so.

He cleared his throat before speaking and then ran his hand through his thinning black hair. “What can I get for you?” He had a boy’s voice. Bishta guessed that he was maybe a decade and eight.

“Get me a hot bowl of soup and the warmest drink you have.”

“Okay.” He looked back at the nine men and then back at her. “I don’t think you should stay here, miss. It isn’t safe.” Bishta could certainly understand why he would think that. She looked no older than he was, and she had a lot of exposed skin so anyone would look at her and see a very weak little girl. But she was the farthest thing from that.

She shook her head. “I thank you for your concern, but I can handle myself.” He didn’t seem the least bit convinced, but he didn’t push her further. He retreated to the kitchen to fish up some soup. She could see the big black crock from her seat.

The men didn’t stop staring at her and their silence remained. Bishta could see them whisper amongst themselves and point at her on several occasions. They were going to try something, and it wasn’t a matter of if but of when. She welcomed them to try. They would make the mistake in thinking she was weak and alone.

The boy didn’t return to give Bishta her soup, a girl