Tales of Averon: The Beast

Tales of Averon

The Beast

A. M. KEEN

AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

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Phone: 08001974150

© 2011 A. M. Keen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means

without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 7/26/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8614-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8615-1 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Foreword

Part 1

Disbanded

1

2

3

4

Part 2

One Dark Night

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

Part 3

Many Enemies, Few Friends

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Part 4

Siege at

Shadow Oak

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

I’d like to dedicate this book to Matt Bareford.

Thanks for the help bruv!

I would like to thank all the people and organizations that helped me since The Dark Army was released.

I would like to thank Tony Hewitt and Owls To Behold who have helped me so much with their displays at my promotions. I would also like to thank The Wildlife Trust for their help and approval of my books throughout their organization.

A big thank you goes to the staff and students at St Peters Junior School in Raunds, and in particular to Ethan, Jessica, Joseph and Kayleigh for their inspirations that found their way into this next installment of the Tales of Averon.

Foreword

Alan Keen’s Tales of Averon reminds me of both Watership Down and Lord of the Rings: mysterious and dark but also uplifting, with lively characters and a storyline that moves you along from one chapter to the next at a quick pace. What more could you want from a good fantasy?

Tales of Averon has it all: Heroes and villains, epic battles, romance (but not too much!), and fantastic worlds never before seen by man. I’m glad that the art of storytelling, real storytelling, is still alive and well in young authors like Alan (and older ones like me). Without them, life would be one long, boring ride to oblivion.

I met Alan on Facebook of all places and we’ve been dialoguing back and forth for a few months. I have watched his growth as a writer with keen interest (pun intended) and hopefully will see him go on to publish many more books after this one. I believe I will. Alan is not only the nicest guy you could ever know, but he can finagle the written word like a chef in a French pastry shop.

Also, Alan lives in one of my favorite places in the world—England! With a last name like Tate, you can probably guess that my lineage has its roots there, with a little Irish and German thrown in for good measure. I’ve been to England and hope to one day return. In fact, London plays a big part in my next dark fantasy, Lilith.

Although I write adult dark fantasy, I’m not too old to enjoy a young adult or middle grade fantasy. I enjoy getting lost in all kinds of worlds created by great writers like Alan. I often read to my eight year old and she loves everything from mystery to fantasy and comedy; it helps keep me young.

And now, it’s time to sit back, relax and enjoy Tales of Averon. As Baal, leader of the Dark Army would say: I’ll be seeing you soon.

Toby Tate

Author of Diablero and Shadowland

www.tobytatestories.com

Part 1

Disbanded

1

Darkness covered the great forest as it rested silently in the midnight starlight. The clouds had vanished leaving a clear, still night that allowed the stars to twinkle brightly to anything that might have laid eyes upon them. The cold season had engulfed the lands and brought with it a vast mixture of weather and elements that should now have passed, allowing for the big thaw to set in.

However, this cold season had been unusually long, and as the animals that awoke from a long slumber of hibernation emerged, they were greeted with the unusual presence of the snowfall that had fallen relentlessly that very day. It rested undisturbed between the trees and on top of the woodland floor. It had fallen so heavily that even the densest part of the forest had at least seen a flurry and dusting as it fell throughout the Great Vast Open and beyond. Averon had felt the full brunt of the natural element, and now the forest rested gently in the darkness, save for the noise of a muntjac foraging between the trees for some food of his own. He had wandered away from his contingency in an attempt to find something to eat, but the berries and vegetation he had come accustomed to during the summer months had now dwindled and almost vanished, forcing the deer to be less choosey about his meal.

He wandered slowly between the trees in the darkness. The moonlight reflected the snow’s white shade, allowing it to glow almost unnaturally, and offer more light than usual at any other time in the forest. He heard his hooves crunch loudly as they broke down in to the fresh, undisturbed snow and saw his own breath leave his mouth every time he exhaled. The buck trotted on a little further and foraged a bush.

Nothing.

As he turned he felt a strange sensation he’d only felt a few times previously in his life. He froze momentarily and scoured his surroundings. The phosphorescent floor offered nothing in return. He opened his eyes wider and held his breath. He noticed his heart thumping in his chest.

He was being watched.

He felt it.

The deer slowly breathed out and once again watched his smoky breath swirl out in to the freezing air. He heard nothing and could see nothing, but still he could feel it. He could feel eyes boring deep in to his mind, cutting effortlessly through the flesh and bone to get there. The muntjac turned slightly around and darted his eyes over the mounds of snow and between the trees. Still nothing, but he most definitely could feel it. Something was watching him. Something was there.

He turned once more, his ears engaged and his eyes concentrating, searching the woodland for any reason of his nervousness. Still, there was no movement, no noises, not even a gust of wind large enough to disturb the woodland’s branches and leaves that surrounded him.

The moonlight glared down upon him, and he noticed to himself that the track that headed home to the contingency seemed brighter than any other path at that moment. There would be food if he desperately needed it, but his appetite had suddenly been suppressed and his instinct was telling him to leave. He turned around one last time and scoured the area. There was nothing out of place. There was no sign of disturbances, and no signs of life. The muntjac turned and began a slow trot back home. He picked up and followed his own hoof prints along the path he had created on his journey this deep in to the wilderness. He brushed tightly through a small coppice of ferns and back out to where the trail widened. The trees in this part of the forest became much further spaced apart and easier to navigate in the cold night’s darkness. The deer noticed the snow glowing wildly from the light above and also how brightly it had illuminated his path, bathing the forest in a dull orange and red glow.

He stopped rapidly.

As he looked down into the snow he noticed his own hoof prints. Next to them lay a huge set of paw prints indented in to the tell-tale snow. His heart sank. What creature could make prints this big? Fear overcame the buck and he rapidly began sprinting away, his hooves thundering across the snow covered ground. He darted through the forest, his breath held as his legs pounded through the cold air. A thunderous roar boomed through the trees behind the fleeing buck. He pushed himself faster as terror gripped him. A snarl from behind drew closer towards the terrified deer as he darted along the track. A final, terrifying roar engulfed the buck and instantly his view changed to the full moon and the stars above.

The buck’s body smashed in to the cold floor as he was tackled from behind by an unseen enemy. His breath exhaled violently as he attempted to stand but was again dragged down, thudding heavily in to the snow and sending chunks of the element flying in to the air. He felt his flesh tear and sting as sharp objects slashed down both sides of his back. A huge weight pounced upon him and suddenly his throat was clamped shut by a powerful jaw. The muntjac squirmed in an attempt to break free and kicked out his legs rapidly, but the clamp remained firmly around his throat. He fought fearfully as he attempted to gain breath, gasping nothing but whispers of air as his struggle continued. Slowly he began to feel sleepy. As the fight began to leave him and his struggle subsided, the weight shifted from his back but remained firmly clasped around his throat. It clamped down one last time leaving the muntjac with a final image of the phosphorescent snow glowing around him. Once the deer had died the clamp removed, and within seconds his blood had been shed and his innards strewn across the freezing snow.

A terrible fate had emerged within Averon, just as Cyrius, the guardian of the great forest had warned. The terrible beast he had seen prowling within the Great Vast Open had now discovered his homeland, and with it the animals who dwelled there.

2

The snow had fallen vastly during the cold season and now had gripped and engulfed Averon with a firm, cold grasp. It fell harsh at times, light at others but remained a constant reminder of just how cruel Mother Nature could be during this period.

The western border was no exception. In fact, it saw a great deal of the downpour as the eastern winds guided it from the Great Vast Open and in to the trees. At times the snow was so deep that most animals dared not venture out for threat of losing their bearings and becoming lost.

Today was slightly different though. The sky was clear blue without even a hint of a cloud in the fresh, crisp morning. The snow had begun to disappear, and General Lupus had deemed it safe to send his reconnaissance teams, or forest guards as they were more commonly known, to each of the borders of Averon on foot patrol. The security of his rabbits was of utmost importance to him, and he didn’t believe in slacking from his duty if there was no good reason to do so.

Apollo and Blits had been sat on a rock for most of the morning at the furthest reaches of the border. They sat looking out in to the Great Vast Open at the fallen snow and noticed how it blanketed the fields and meadows in one simple shade of white. They noticed drops of water dripping away from the branches of the trees and bushes as the snow slowly began to melt away. Apollo had spent most of the morning digging around in the element, looking for a long blade of grass to chew upon instead of keeping a lookout for anything suspicious. He had finally found one he deemed suitable, and now that blade of grass dangled from the corner of his mouth and rotated quickly as he chewed on it. You think this is it? The last time the snow will fall before the warm season gets here? he asked methodically.

I don’t know, Blits replied. Maybe? We seem to have been in this season for longer than usual.

Apollo nodded. Yep. I hope so. I don’t know how much more of this chill my hide can take, he said, taking a quick look over his right side and ruffling his tale to remove the rogue snow that had inconspicuously nestled there.

What are you talking about? Blits said in a confused voice. You’re a rabbit. You’re supposed to be enduring the cold season with ease. You’re supposed to laugh in the face of anything that it can throw at you.

Apollo continued chewing his blade of grass. Not me, he said, straight and to the point. Give me a warm chamber and fresh berries over patrolling these trees at this precise point in time.

Blits shook his head and returned his attention to the Great Vast Open. He could only see the occasional brake of darkened bushes or trees out there, the west was otherwise completely hidden under a blanket of white. You don’t see old Lupus or Castor patrolling much these days do you? Apollo said with the grass churning in his mouth.

I’d be careful how you address them. If word gets back that you didn’t call them by their rank, you’d be strung up by your tail. Besides, they’ve done it all before. They’ve patrolled these trees long before we even existed.

Exactly. Do you think that maybe they are getting too old? They seem to be full of grey hares!

What do mean grey- and then it struck him. Apollo was a fine forest guard beyond question, but joke teller? There was no one worse in the entire warren or Averon, Blits thought silently to himself. Apollo began laughing uncontrollably.

Terrible. That was terrible. You get worse you know, Blits said shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Apollo stopped laughing, and then started again. Then stopped. Then sniggered. How did you end up being a forest guard? Blits asked with intrigue.

"Oh I don’t