The Silent Deal (The Card Game #1)

THE SILENT DEAL is an award-winning explosive adventure. The Magic Trick (book 2) is out, and book 3 comes out next year. Within these pages lies mystery, magic, mythology, and wide cast of gypsies, gamblers, fire-jugglers, and thieves. The Card Game awaits…

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WHEN VIKTOR AND ROMULUS, two peasant boys, dig too deep into their town’s strange past, they awaken the wrath of a mysterious overlord. As the blood brothers struggle to survive, their search for answers takes them through gambling parlors, fortune-teller dens, and moonlit forests full of monsters and men alike. But even with the help of their friends, can they escape the deathly experiments that their foe is creating in Staryi Castle?

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WINNER of 'Outstanding Fiction' at the California Writers Con.

5 STAR rating from Readers Favorite Awards and being considered for a finalist position in the 2015 contest.

THE SILENT DEAL

THE CARD GAME: BOOK ONE

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For a mad dog, seven versts is not a long detour.

(Russian Proverb)

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PROLOGUE

THE LORD OF THE FOREST

  

As the last rays of sunlight streamed through the trees, the Lord of the Forest ran, searching for any sign of a disturbance in the woods. His strides were powerful, but his footsteps silent. His boots, woven from wild reeds and stems, made no noise across the snowy forest floor. Knowledge made him soundless. He knew which plants would soften his steps. He knew how to blend into the forest. To the naked eye, he of human form and woodland spirit could become invisible. It was old magic, but teachable magic, so he guarded his secrets well, sharing them only with those he deemed worthy.

The Lord of the Forest watched over nature like a father would a child. He was its keeper: That was his nature. Every plant’s characteristics and uses rested safely in his memory. Those that were nameless, he named, and those that grew carelessly, he cared for. His was an earned title, for he cared for plants day and night. The work left bits of shrubs stuck in his long hair and beard, both of which had taken a greenish tone. It made his green cape dirty from swishing against the earth. Even in winter, the scent of pollen would ever cling to his skin. Such was the result of a lifetime spent under the canopy of trees.

Seeing a trail of trampled bramble, the man halted, and his green eyes turned fiery. He hated nothing more than the destruction of nature, and though these were the tracks of two humans, he knew there were creatures much more sinister than men in the dark parts of the forest. He advanced with caution. Blood, that ancient warning, lay splattered on the ground every few feet. Beads of it dripped from the tendrils of plants, or were smeared on frozen tree trunks. Wise to heed the warning, his fingertips brushed the handle of his weapon, a whip made of vines: One lash would break skin; his enemy’s bloodstream would be poisoned with toxic weeds from the far corners of the world.

The blood trail and brush grew thicker. The Lord of the Forest was close. His bones knew it. Creeping around olden oaks, he stole a look into a clearing at the center of the thicket. No one was standing up at least, but were they crouched to attack? Scowling, he pulled out his whip and stalked forward. As he neared the center, he caught a clear view of the forest floor. His heart splintered in his chest. There, coddled in cold snow, was a pale, hooded woman, a still newborn babe in her arms.

Ever after, the Lord of the Forest regretted not walking away. He should have turned his back and been done with it, but he lingered. Old feelings rose up in him that had not been felt for an eternity. Some part of his heart held him there. He looked down at the woman curiously. She was beautiful, but was she sleeping, unconscious, or dead? It had been a long time since he had checked for signs of life in a human. For a plant, he had to but scratch a stem and find green, the color of life. A woman was different. She needed air, but his hand felt no warm breath. Her veins needed to pump blood, but he found no pulse. Instead a blue hue spread across her skin, turning it icy. Her limbs were stiff, her blue eyes glassy and forever distant. Yes, she was gone, he decided. But what of the babe?

Something snarled behind him. The Lord of the Forest turned his head. At the brink of the clearing crouched a shadowy gray-white wolf. He didn’t fear or hate the beast. They shared a mutual respect for the forest. It didn’t trample and snap plants as this woman did, though it was guilty of following her blood trail. Its kind could smell death from versts away. Soon there would be many. Perhaps that was why one set of footprints led away from this woman. Her companion had abandoned her, and if he left also, the creatures would surely devour the woman, and the child, too.

Against every commandment written into his core, he bent down and scooped the baby up into his arms. His business was rescuing plants, animals even, but not people. He had never cared for a child, nor did he want to learn …

The blanketed newborn was nearly dead. Its eyes were almost frozen shut, and its skin was cold. How long had it been lying still in the night air?

After another glance at the woman, he made a decision: It would be the river. Humans, like plants, were meant to return to the ground, but with wolves approaching, he could at least cast the woman and child into the water to save their bodies from gnashing teeth. So with the babe cocooned in one arm, he reached down with his other to sling the woman over his shoulder. Yet as he grasped her hand, he felt a piece of cloth. Curious again, he pulled it from her grip and let it fall open in his flat hand. Written on it, in blood, was one word—a name—Romulus.

He stared from the fabric to the babe, and back again. It had a name, the most ancient magic of all. In that moment, he knew he would not let the child drown. It was a he; he was Romulus, the boy of the forest. As the night descended, the Lord of the Forest made his way to the moonlit riverbank with the woman over his shoulder, the baby cradled in his arm, and the piece of cloth folded in his pocket. The ghostly wolf followed from a distance.

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