by A L Wright
His father stood there with a stoic look, taking in the sight of his son in silence. But Dartein did not stop to talk to him. He swept past his father into the chamber.
The smell of blood was thick and overwhelming to his overly heightened senses. He could barely even register what he saw over the sickeningly sweet smell.
His heart ached at his lovely lady in pain, being held tight in her guard’s arms. Dartein’s mind screamed at him to find the source of the blood.
His new-found appetite demanded more.
Forcefully pushing those thoughts away, he refocused on Josaleene. She was bearing down and screaming while Victor held her tightly and talked her through it. He could not hear the words the guard told her over the sound of his own pulse rushing though his ears, but he could see the truth in the man’s face as tears fell from his eyes.
Just then, Josaleene's entire body relaxed, slumped against Victor. Her head fell to the side and her eyes landed upon him.
“Dartein,” she croaked. There was no glint or spark in her eyes. There was no radiance of life. Her eyes dulled over as he rushed the last few feet to her side, sliding to a stop on his knees beside the bed.
Grabbing her bleeding hand, he brought it to his mouth, kissing it over and over. “Josee, Josee talk to me. I need you to talk to me, my love.” He watched her face and saw nothing. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth was slack, her hand that he was holding was not responding to his touch.
In shock he stared at her beautiful face, willing her to smile at him once more. He saw her body shake and almost had hope until he realized that the man holding her, Victor, was sobbing as he still held her tight.
On top of shock he was now confused. Why was this hardened man crying? His mind was not capable of rationalizing any thought at that moment.
And then, he heard a small wail. A very strong cry, even if it was small. Curiosity and awe overcame him, and he gently laid his Love's hand back onto the bed and stood up. When he looked to the end of the bed he saw the midwife swaddling a small bundle. He walked over to her and she placed the small writhing bundle into his arms.
“Here you are Mi Lord. She saw this terrible birthing through, and brought forth to you a most healthy little girl. Have you a name for her?” The Midwife asked.
“No.” Dartein whispered. He had not even tried to come up with names. How could he even try to name her, without his Chosen's help?
Crushing despair caught a hold of him and he sank once more to his knees, clutching the small babe to his chest. Tears flowed down his face and his world crumbled around him. He stayed there for several moments before he could no longer bear being the recipient of pitiful glances and shoulder pats.
Quickly he rose and glanced once more towards his lost Josaleene. She was now laying back, and Victor closed her eyes with one of his large hands. The large guard looked up at him, tears still rolling down his cheeks.
“My Prince, she fought valiantly.” Victor said in a hushed voice. “She was a true warrior in the end. If you have no further need of me, I hope to withdraw from these chambers presently.”
Dartein just nodded, not trusting his own voice. Victor fled the chambers, and after planting a soft kiss on his love's silent cheek, he too fled the room.
Carrying his newborn daughter tightly against him, he moved towards an empty bedchamber.
Catching a close by guard’s attention, he gave quick orders. “I need you to pack a couple weeks’ worth of my clothing, and all the linens and blankets we have for the baby. Pack up a traveling tent as well as some provisions. I plan to leave immediately.” The guard turned to leave only to be blocked by Victor.
Victor planted a large hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Double the provisions and pack a second tent. The Prince will not be traveling alone.”
The guard turned and ran down the hall, two other guards in his wake to help.
“You do not need to accompany me,” said Dartein “I wish to travel alone.”
“Forgive my free speech, My Prince, but you will not make it far in your state with an infant to care for. You are grieving and suffering from a hard journey. I will go with you and see to helping with Josaleene's child.”
Stunned that the guard would talk to him so directly, Dartein had no response.
Continuing his speech Victor said to the Prince, “Do not think that you were the only one here who cared deeply for The Princess. Just as you, I can no longer bear to be within the walls of this Palace. I will be ready to travel in half an hour, and will wait for you in the yard.” Victor then turned and fled down the hallway before his Prince could deny him the chance to escape.
Dartein stood there motionless for several moments. The small infant in his arms stared up at him with large milky eyes. He could almost feel Josaleene looking at him through those eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the Palace entryway, away from the death of his love.
Chapter 22
The Patriarch stood on the same balcony where he had held vigil that past two nights. He had seen his son return, had seen the blood craze in his eyes. He had wanted to reason with his son about Josaleene's death and he had wanted so much to tell him that everything would be okay. But he himself knew it would never be okay. And seeing his son so far gone he knew that reason would never reach him.
He knew Dartein now had intimate knowledge of drinking blood from the source, and had quite obviously used it in his travels. There would be no reaching him in his current state of mind. The lust for blood would cloud any judgment or reason.
Mortul watched then as Victor led two large and sturdy mounts to the center of the courtyard. The horses were laden with traveling tents and bulging saddlebags. Mortul had seen the emotion in Victor’s face when Josaleene was in pain, and was not surprised the guard intended to leave.
However, he was surprised when he saw his Son walk out into the courtyard holding his infant daughter. He watched as Dartein walked over to Victor and handed him the small bundle, then swung himself up onto one of the horses. He reached down to take the baby back, and then fastened the child to his chest using a sling.
Victor mounted the second horse and without even looking back, both men rode away from the Palace.
Heartbroken for the second time in his life, Mortul clutched at the stone railing along the balcony.
The Patriarch of the Noble Race stood staring at the palace gates, willing his Son to come back through them. He had no idea how long he stood there watching, waiting until the sky started to turn orange with the threat of the rising sun.
Still lost in his heartbreak, he barely heard the two men come up behind him. He turned to see two of his Noble Rangers standing in the doorway to the balcony.
“Patriarch, My Lord, we bring terrible news.” One of them stated gravely.
“If you have come to tell me my Son has left, then I am afraid I already know. No need to rub salt in that wound.” Mortul turned back to look out towards the gates again.
“My Lord,” said the other Ranger. “We do not come to tell you of your Son. We came to tell you what we found in the northern forest. Sir, we found goblins. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. I am loathe to tell you of this but, Sir, the Ancient Enemy has returned to our lands.”
Continue Reading for Book Two….
Book Two
Blood Ties
Ties of Blood Bind Stronger Than Steel
Chapter 1
Nikkola drowsed on the balcony, stretched out on an old wooden recliner. The evening sun felt incredible on her skin, even if it did make her sleepy. She preferred to relax into the start of her day, which started every evening as the sun set. They had no human helpers around the keep so the maintenance of the small military force that was housed there required everyone's involvement.
Tonight, the hunters would be returning with fresh kills. They forayed out once a month when the moon was high to hunt for meat to feed everyone. Usually her father, Dartein, would go with them but this time he h
ad other pressing matters to attend to. He and Victor had ridden out to the village to the east to trade for metals and hopefully to employ a smith that could work them. Their holdings were in a sad state of repair, and they had waited long enough to seek out help from the humans.
The village her father would be travelling to was rather small. Nikkola did not hold out much hope that they would be able to convince someone with such a trade to leave a place where they were needed. They had a very small store of iron here at the keep, along with some steel and silver and even a small hut that had once been used for smithing. But no one around the keep had a clue how to work metal. They were all hunters and rangers and fighters.
The sun dropped below the tree line and stars were beginning to appear. Just as Nikkola began picking out constellations she heard riders come into the yard. Standing and stretching, she looked out over the group that rode in. The hunters had returned early which meant they had camped not far away from the keep. She wasn't terribly excited about helping to butcher the animals they brought in. Messy business it was. Sighing to herself, she turned to her room behind her and walked through the keep and out the main door to the yard.
“Here, Clyd, let me help you with the horses.”
Snagging up two of the horse’s reins from the wiry leather-clad Noble she walked quickly with them trailing behind her to the stalls. Thinking herself clever how she escaped the work of butchering the kills brought in, she took her time brushing down the horses and checking their hooves for damage. On one of the horses she found chips around two hooves. The mare snorted at her and tossed her mane as Nikkola ran her fingers over the hoof she was holding.
If they had a smith these poor animals would at least have shoes.
If it wasn't one thing it was another. Weapons, ammo, saddle buckles and now horse shoes. They were a desperate bunch of rogues. No, not rogues. That would mean they were alright with stealing to get by. And they most definitely were not thieves. Her father was almost rabid on that point. The humans were to be protected, not stolen from.
She smiled as she thought of her father. Growing up he always called her his Little Princess. As a child she felt like a princess as she looked out over the yard from her window in the Keep. Even Victor called her Princess. She felt her cheeks grow red as she thought of the large fighter who was also her father's closest friend. The stall she was in was suddenly warm. While everyone else practically ignored her unless she was needed, Victor made sure he spent time with her every day. He had trained her how to fight, how to hunt and how to ride.
“Tut, tut girl. Rest now. I will get you shoes made soon, I promise,” she whispered to the mare as she backed out of the stall. She exited the barn and looked over to the building that held the butchery. Below that building was the cellar where they stored the meats. The torch lights were still blazing inside the building and she heard voices there. She had hoped they would be all finished by now. Nikka supposed she better just go help them.
She ducked through the door and noticed there was about twice as much game hanging from the rafters as usual. No wonder it was taking longer than normal. Their hunts didn’t usually bring in this many kills. They were careful not to over hunt the local wildlife. Washing her hands in a bucket near the door she was wondering where to start when Clyd walked toward her.
“Aye, Lass. Glad you stopped in to help. We came across a whole herd of deer darn near right outside the keep, and we had quite a bountiful hunt. Care to fillet up some of those haunches fer me?” Clyd handed her a crude knife and patted her on the shoulder. She noticed one of the hunters bringing two carcasses up from the cellar.
“Clyd, those haven't even been skinned yet. What were they doing in the cellar? They weren't gutting them down there were they?” She wrinkled her nose, thinking of the ugly business of gutting an animal. She could do it. But she did not like it. And she sure hoped they weren't leaving the entrails in the cellar where they stored their meats.
“Um, well, they just needed to be brought in off the horses and there was no room up here fer them. We set them down there until we could get to them, that's all.” Clyd looked quickly away from her.
She saw there was plenty of room up here, but she didn't say anything. It was only one more thing in the string of mysterious things that were happening lately around the keep. She kept quiet about it all, but observed closely. If something was going on she was certainly going to know about it.
Wiping her hand hands dry on her trousers, she slipped away from Clyd and towards the back of the room to the staircase. She busied herself in sharpening the knife on a whetstone until the man was no longer paying attention to her. Then she set the stone down and stole down the stairs silently.
There were still several animals down here laying heaped in a pile. Walking toward the carcasses she wondered again why they were down here. Around them were several small wine casks. Picking one of the casks up she noticed they were empty. Nearby there was an odd-looking piece of wood shaped like a small shovel but where one end was very wide, the other was narrow ending in a taper. She had seen these before around the keep; runnels her father called them. They directed rain water coming from the roof to the runoff trenches, so the yard didn't flood. Touching the odd shaped piece of wood, she noticed it was wet, sticky.
Blood. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and licked them clean. Looking at the animals piled on the floor she saw that none of them were bloody, there were no wounds from arrows, swords or spears. Leaning in close she saw every single one of them had had their necks broken.
She knew of the nearby human's hunting ritual of drinking a small amount of the animal's blood after a kill, however it wasn’t something they themselves had ever observed before. This seemed to her as though they were storing the blood in these small caskets. It was odd, but what wasn't odd about their kind?
She had been raised on blood from infancy, and had always wondered why the other Nobles never drank of it. Her father had told her to never ask, because none of them would even know what to tell her. And that's all he had said about it. She shrugged off the curiosity over the casks and went back upstairs to help cut up the meat.
Taking herself to the farthest corner of the stuffy room, she sat the knife down on the bench. Looking around to make sure no one noticed her, she let her nails grow like claws from her right hand. She had never seen another of them do this, so she felt it was yet something else she had to keep a secret. Even from her father.
Looking around and seeing how much meat there was still to butcher she took in a deep breath and let it out.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 2
Dartein and Victor walked their horses through the muddy streets of the village. They had already visited one of the town’s two blacksmiths and had been quickly but politely turned down. Evidently even as small as the town was, he was busy enough that he didn't need to consider offers from strangers. Dartein was not a wealthy lord like his father, so did not have monetary means to lure away someone who had a well-established business already.
“I hope it only means that he has all the business and the other blacksmith will need us as much as we need him,” he said to Victor.
Victor was pensive. Dartein could feel the annoyance running off his old friend. He knew it was because they had left Nikkola behind at the keep. Victor never left her behind for more than a day or two. They had been gone for two days already, so the large man was quite ready to go back.
He knew the source of Victor's devotion, and did not fault the man for it. They had both been completely devoted to his dearly departed Josaleene. And now Victor was fiercely protective of his daughter, the child his Josee had died in bringing forth.
At least he thought it was merely protectiveness.
He sighed to himself, seeing that he now was suddenly feeling very protective of his daughter. Thoughts of Josee did that to him. He never wanted to let Nikkola out of his sight, but had business to attend and an army to prep
are.
They rounded the corner and came upon the second blacksmith's shop. This one was just as large as the first one they had visited and peering into the shop he could see heaps of plow heads, horse shoes and many other small bits laying around waiting to be worked on.
“My Prince, it does not look like you will be prying this man away from his work either.”
Dartein winced. He disliked it when Victor called him that and insisted that he never do it in front of others.
“It seems that way, but let us check anyway.”
Striding into the back room past the forges they spied a short burly man seated on a bench next to a younger man wearing a large floppy brimmed hat. They were both polishing sets of buckles, but the older man put his down, stood up and bowed slightly as they walked in.
“Greetings, sirs. Welcome to my shop. Name's Gibbs. If you are here to commission new work, then I gotta warn ya, I'm a bit piled up right now.” The man gestured around at the various piles they had seen before coming in.
“I can see you are very busy. We came looking for a smith to join our ranks at the Keep outside of the village. It would be full time work there with room and board, if you know of anyone who needs the work,” Dartein said.
“Well it sure wouldn't be myself needing that work. I got plenty of trade for food and goods, and even the occasional coin or two. No, I'm set up good here in town. My son is 'prenticing with me, and he isn't ready to go out on his own yet either.”
Dartein nodded to the younger person still seated on the bench. “Yes, he seems young still. Better to keep him working here until he's ready.”
