by D. E. Morris
Other Books in the Age of Valor Series
Heritage
Awakening
Dragon Song
Age of Valor:
Blood Purge
D. E. Morris
Amazon
Copyright © 2020 D. E. Morris
Cover art by Niken Anindita
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: April 2017
ISBN: 9798605393740
ISBN-13: 978-1544028279
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
To Connor,
Thank you for encouraging the creative in me, and for loving these characters just as much as I do.
It was quiet on the hillside, eerie and still but for the soft rustle of the grass as her sandaled feet moved at a slow, steady pace. Her light wool shift whispered over the ground in her wake. Two others walked with her, flanking her to complete an arrowhead formation as they moved up the steep incline. Like her, they wore simple shifts of undyed wool, hoods pulled down low over their eyes. They kept their heads down, their fingers linked before them as they walked while she kept her gaze upward and her hands free at her sides. The heat from the summer day still hung in the air, damp with humidity, and made beads of sweat spread along her brow.
Eyes belonging to faces unseen watched them, watched her, as the trio drew closer to the crest of the hill. A ring of stones awaited them, tall and towering like a crown that had simply been set there to wait. As they approached, the three young women slowed in their gait, eventually coming to a pause just outside the circle of stone. One of the girls stepped forward to draw their leader's hood down, black hair tumbling free. The other came forward as well to place a small jeweled dagger in the girl's hand. The two bowed their heads, their requirements complete, and backed down the hill until they were swallowed by the surrounding shadows. Now alone, the leader of the trio turned and stepped inside the stone ring.
Small fire pits formed an inner circle within, all of them cold and somber. Another stood in the very center. Though it was dark, she could see someone standing on the other side of it, his long robes as inky as the surrounding night. She lifted her chin and proceeded forward, stopping only when she was before him with the unlit fire pit between them. Though there were few who possessed the status required to be in his position, it was impossible to guess at who she faced, his own hood was pulled down so low.
“Croeso, Offeiriades.”
She bowed her head at the greeting, responding, “Y duwiau bendithia chi.”
“Hiyashi Akane, you have been burdened with a solemn duty, one that only you may carry. Among all the others, you have been chosen as the strongest and most capable to perform this task. In accepting this charge, you must acknowledge that your body and your spirit are no longer yours, but those of the great gods of the past, the present, and the future. Do you accept this truth?”
“I do.”
“And do you vow to fulfill your mission, no matter the sacrifices asked of you?”
Her heart sped at the question but there was no hesitation. “I do.”
“In the names of all who have gone before you and all who will rise up should you fall, I send you forth with the blessing of your people.” He reached across the distance between them and she handed him the dagger. It made a sharp sound as it was pulled free of the scabbard, and she watched the light of the moon reflect off the jewels in its hilt. “Ni edrych angau pwy decaf ei.” He took her free hand and slid the blade across her palm, a thin red line trailing behind it that quickly blossomed, pooling and dripping over the edges. “Na ad i’th dafod dorri’th wddf.”
She resisted the urge to hiss at the pain. Struggling to keep the discomfort from her voice, she responded with a quiet, “Efallai y duwiau yn ei gwneud yn mor.”
He dipped a finger into the blood in her palm and spoke quiet words as he smeared it in a thick line across her forehead. Bending, he picked up a goblet and presented it to her. With her bloody hand, she accepted and put it to her lips. Warm, spicy liquid filled her mouth and ran down her throat in a burning trail. She almost coughed at the unexpected potency of the searing ginger and cloves, but another swallow helped her suppress the urge. Handing the goblet back to the robed man, she watched him take a sip as well before he set it back down on the ground.
All at once, the fire pit before her sprang to life. She watched, somewhat dazed, as a shadowed figure ran from them. More of them seemed to come from nowehere to light the fires all around the ring of stone. What had been all consuming darkness before was soon bathed in the golden light of the flames encircling her. Cries came from her unseen audience, whoops and hollers of joy. As she watched, fires were lit farther out, crowning similar smaller hills that surrounded the area. What had felt heavy and serious now had the air of levity. She could see the grey skin of the man under the robe before her. As he pulled his hood down to reveal black hair beneath, he grinned at her like a friend and not someone who had authority over her.
People began to spill from the shadows, shouts of celebration on their tongues. She looked around for a specifice person. Laughter bubbled from deep within her, light and girlish. When arms encircled her waist to pull her close and lift her feet from the ground, she squealed in shock and delight. “You did it!”
“I did it,” she echoed mirroring her captor's happiness. She ran the fingers of her uninjured hand over his pale skin and trailed over his pointed ears before tangling into his long black hair. “I did it.”
“I'm so proud of you.” His dark eyes shone up at her. Her smile dimmed only a little as she looked at her other hand. Though it had been subtle, the elf picked up on it right away and set her down as gently as though she were made of glass. He pulled a linen strip from the pocket of his robes as though he'd been carrying it for such an occasion. Watching his face as he wrapped her wound, she touched his cheek with deep affection, the smile returning to her lips when he met her lingering gaze.
“I love you.” She spoke so softly that the words were almost lost among the cries of joy and celebraton that still surrounded them. He grinned, however, his enhanced sense of hearing not missing what had been expressed.
“I love you, too.” He bent forward to press his forehead against hers, framing her face in his hands. “My beautiful bride.”
“Will you miss me?”
“I already do.” Kissing her lips, he pulled her close against him. “We won't be parted for long. Soon we will be reunited, and we can truly begin our lives together as husband and wife.”
“As husband and wife,” she repeated, biting her lip in delight.
“Go and do what you must, then come home to me. We can raise a family of our own in a world free from oppression, fear, and terror.”
“Free from the Gaels,” she whispered. Her eyes closed as she breathed in, almost eccstatic at the thought.
“And free,” he reminded her, sweeping her hair from her face, “from the Giver.”
She grinned and threw her head back in a cry of glee. All around her, the others took up her gaeity and soon, it seemed as though the very hills themselves echoed with laughter.
&n
bsp; Chapter One
Sparks flew into the air as sword came down on sword. The cold steel sent a loud clanging through the cheering audience. Spectators formed a thick wall around the circle in which the two knights fought one another. The smaller of the two wore dented armor with a goldenrod ribbon tucked into his gauntlet. The other, much bigger and slower than the smaller knight, had a black and white ribbon wound around his armored bicep. They parried and spun. The bigger knight pulled his sword back before lunging forward. The smaller knight stepped aside with more agility than was normally seen by someone so covered in armor. The other surged forward with the weight of his own momentum. He leaned too far to the front, surprised by the thin air now before him, and stumbled into the simple wooden barrier that separated him from the raucous crowd. Men and women grabbed at him. They looked as though they were helping him until he was righted, turned around, and shoved aggressively back toward his opponent.
Ready with a new attack, the smaller knight ducked and stuck out a leg. The larger knight tripped over it and went sprawling into dirt that was already mixed with blood and saliva in tiny viscous pools all over the small arena. Before he could get back up, the smaller knight drove his foot down into the back of the larger knight. He pointed the tip of his sword at the nape of his neck, the delicate spot where only chain mail protected exposed flesh that armor didn't cover.
A man in colorful robes with scarves wound around his head lifted his arms. With brows raised and excitement upon his rounded face, he proclaimed, “Fletcher!”
If the onlookers had been loud before, their cries of joy could have reached the mountaintops that encircled the village. A squire at one end of the arena put a little while flag into a post with three spots carved into it, adding to the other two white flags already there. “That's three. Fletcher wins the match!”
The smaller knight stepped away from the larger and lifted his sword in the air, giving the people a reason to chant his name. As he reveled in the praise, squires entered the arena like mice, scurrying over to the fallen knight to help him get to his feet. Two more helped remove the victor's helmet. Long red hair, thin and matted with sweat, spilled down the back of the knight who was revealed to be a woman and not a man. She grinned, taking a fresh gulp of air. Turning to her opponent as his helmet was removed, she waited for him to push his black curls from his face before smirking at him. “Hand over that pretty armor, Seeyle.”
“I call bad form,” the man growled, tossing his sword aside.
“The only bad form is yers,” the woman countered, unflinching. “You act as though you've never touched a sword before. Who taught you how to fight? Yer mam?”
Seeyle's face turned red and he lunged, and soon the arena was filling with people.
“Lucien. Allons-y.”
A little boy in the gathered crowd, lean, with sandy blond hair and white wings on his back, turned at the sound of his name. Blue eyes searched the moving crowd until they fell on a small woman with blonde hair and fiery Phoenix wings that draped down her back. He got up from his chosen spot near the barrier to the arena and moved through the surrounding people until he was by her side. Looking back at the melee that had broken out, he asked, “Why are they fighting, Mère?”
She gave a little sigh and shook her head. “Men do not like to lose a fight, whether that fight is on the battlefield or in an arena like this. They like losing to a woman even less.”
Lucien looked up at his mother. “But she won fair and square. He has to give her his armor, doesn't he?”
“Those are the rules, yes.”
The boy's head swiveled from side to side, a new thought now distracting him. “Where's Cavalon?”
“He went to register for an event this afternoon.” Frowning, she looked to her left as though looking farther into the surrounding activity. “He should have been back by now.” She knew that it was possible for Cavalon to have been sidetracked or distracted by some other event. After being cooped up for a week of summit meetings, she could hardly blame him.
The week-long event was the first time since Tadhg had been on the throne that all seven nations had been together as one to discuss how they would function again as a whole, not as seven different countries all on their own. They had once been sister nations. War had torn them apart and kept them distant for far too long. With the loss of the island of Mirasean five years prior, the home of the elves, it was only now that anger and animosity had settled enough to allow for such a gathering.
Caedia was the natural choice for the summit being the most central of all six remaining countries. Tasarin, King Consort in Caedia, took on the massive undertaking of creating a city from nothing for this very reason, and a city it was indeed. At over twenty miles long, nestled into one of Caedia's thick forests with a mountain ridge that curled protectively around it, it had its own market plaza, a jousting and tournament field as well as a field for athletic competitions, multiple stages, and housing to accommodate the people of every social status. It took him nearly two years to complete and was something in which he took great pride. Nuala could not argue that it had been a job well done. He had revealed that once the summit and festival were over, the village would be used as a safe place for the elves and any who wished to make their homes within.
“Whoa!”
Lucien's exclamation made Nuala blink, her thoughts scattering with the people who milled in the streets. She looked at her son to see his brows lifted, eyes wide in excitement, then followed his gaze to see what had his attention. Through the crowds came her husband, tall and muscular with no hair upon his head or sleeves on his arms. She watched the women he passed, entertained by how many of them let their hungry eyes trail over his tanned skin. What amused her even more was the fact that he paid them no mind. In fact, he paid her no mind as he approached with an enormous roasted turkey leg in his grasp. He grinned, golden eyes laughing as he handed the leg to Lucien.
“You said you were hungry enough to eat a horse. This was the best I could do.”
“It's so heavy,” Lucien grunted, holding it with two hands like a swordsman. Without another word, he opened his mouth as wide as it would go and sank his teeth into it.
Nuala winced as she watched the juices run down her son's chin and onto his doublet. “I suppose I should be thankful that he has already been introduced to Elette and her family. Relations are strained between the capital and their lesser kingdom as it is. Can you imagine their reaction to meeting their future son-in-law if he were to look like this? What about the poor girl?”
A smirk tugged at the corners of Cavalon's lips as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “She's five, he's six. Do you really think they'll even remember each other the next time they're together? Stop looking around. No one is watching him or judging you. He's a kid. Let him get messy.”
“He is a high prince,” Nuala corrected quietly. “He should not be eating like a barbarian and using conjunctions like...” She trailed off, searching for the right word, but Cavalon only laughed.
“Like me?”
She couldn't help but chuckle as well, mock helplessness in her voice. “Exactly like you. What have I exposed my son to?”
“Mère, can we go over there?”
“Our son,” Cavalon growled playfully. “Blood or not, he's mine, too.”
“Can we?” Lucien repeated. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his white wings fluttering in excitement.
Cavalon jerked his chin to the side. “Let's walk down this way. There are more competitions down there and the joust should be starting soon. You wanted to see that, didn't you?”
“Yes!”
“Do not go far ahead of us again!”
Lucien nodded and turned down the path Cavalon had indicated. He gnawed away at his turkey leg as his head swung left and right to try to take in everything that was happening around him. Cavalon pulled his arm from around Nuala's waist, but took her hand in his own and laced their fingers together. He kissed her knuckles, making her smi
le as the pair followed after Lucien. The two winged men who had been keeping careful watch on Nuala moved with them, blending in with the surrounding crowd as though they were simple spectators themselves.
“I'm so glad that week is over,” Cavalon breathed after a time. They took the boy's lead, walking when he walked, stopping to observe when he chose before moving on again at his whim. “One morning of meetings is enough for me, let alone an entire seven days filled with them.”
“None of us like them,” Nuala assured, keeping her eye on her son as he joined a crowd around another smaller arena, “though there was nothing we discussed that was not important. It all had to be said and done if we have any hope of joining together with one another like in the days before Tadhg.”
“We're seven different people from seven – now six – different countries. We're never going to see eye to eye on everything.”
Nuala shrugged delicately. “I do not believe a single person went into this summit believing that would be the outcome. No six people could ever see eye to eye on everything. Being one of six Elementals, you know this all too well. To believe six nations could be more in sync than a small group of individuals would surpass naivety into downright stupidity.”
Cavalon snorted. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“It was frustrating to listen to those delegates that believed we were already operating as one and that no further improvements could be made. There is always room for improvement no matter how acceptable things may appear.”
“It's been five years of quiet,” Cavalon reminded. “After two years of fighting, I'm not surprised that there are people, even well-educated people, that would look at that as black and white as they do. No turmoil means nothing is wrong.”
Nualas's brows came together. “But there is turmoil. Dragons are still being hunted. Gaels have become more fearful to be open about what they really are. Slayings are more common now than they were during those two years of seemingly constant fighting.” She shook her head in annoyance. “I know fear has a way of numbing people once they have lived with it long enough, but to ignore it altogether...”
