JOURNEY OF A BETRAYED HERO
VOLUME 1
BRANDON VARNELL
ILLUSTRATIONS BY AISORETTO
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Journey of a Betrayed Hero, Volume 1
Copyright © 2019 Brandon Varnell
Illustration copyright © 2019 Aisoretto
Kindle formatting: Lia at Free Your Words
All rights reserved
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ISBN-13: 978-0-9989942-1-5
Contents
Title Page
Publishing Info
Prologue: A Not So Humble Barkeep
Chapter 1: A Beautiful Stranger
Interlude I: A Queen’s Woes
Chapter 2: Heroes Wanted
Interlude II: An Eager Knight
Chapter 3: The Great Equalizer
Interlude III: Dark Tidings
Chapter 4: A Quest Gone Awry
Chapter 5: Champions of the Dark Council
Chapter 6: Lust
Epilogue: The Defeated Hero
Afterword
WIDEREBURT: Legend of the Reincarnated Warrior
Chapter 1: The Final Battle
Hey, Did You Know?
Exclusively On Patreon...
American Kitsune
A Most Unlikely Hero
Arcadia's Ignoble Knight
The Executioner
Social Media
PROLOGUE
A NOT SO HUMBLE BARKEEP
The Hero’s Journey was a small bar located in the free city of Albany. The friendly atmosphere was complemented by warm woods and bright lights, thanks in no small part to the fairy lamps hanging from the ceiling, from which numerous tiny sprites danced around like incandescent balls. Despite its small size, The Hero’s Journey was always crowded, especially at night.
“Hey, Barkeep! How about some booze over here?!”
“Barkeep! Barkeep! Get me another of them pork loins!”
“Barkeep!”
“Barkeep!”
“Hey, Barkeep!”
“Coming right up!” Jacob Stone, proprietor and barkeep, shouted.
Several trays were being balanced on his arms and head, each one carrying either a meal or drinks. He slid between seats, ignoring the pungent odor from the mixing of many different bodies. Without hesitating, he slid drinks onto tables and food in front of customers, all the while trading snipes with the people who spent their time drinking there.
It had been one year since he’d opened this bar. He’d never actually expected it to be so successful, but he supposed good cooking and good ale would bring anyone over. Perhaps it was a good thing that he’d learned how to cook from Freya before they’d parted ways.
Shouts filled with bar, a constant stream of never ending noise, and Jacob needed to holler over everyone to be heard.
“Here you are, one ale!”
“One pork loin!”
“Here’s your ale, though I think you’re about nearing your limit!”
Jacob worked alone at this bar. Sometimes people asked him why he didn’t hire anyone. He would always force a smile, tell them that no one would want to work for a scruffy place like this, and keep working. These days, such conversations had practically become tradition. He tried not to let it bother him and continued on, business as usual.
As evening wore on, many of the people—mostly men and women mercenaries—got up and left. A few were so drunk that their friends needed to drag them out. The only ones that remained as night fell were those who liked to stay late. Jacob would tell them to leave soon. He was almost ready to close the bar.
Creaking wood. A soft groan. Jacob heard the door open as he stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass.
Looking up with a frown, Jacob glanced at the people who’d entered his bar.
His frown deepened.
These weren’t patrons who had come for a drink.
Decked out in gleaming silver armor, their joints clinked as they waltzed forward with an arrogance that befitted those who served the kingdom. They carried weapons at their sides. Finger joints clinked together as swords were fiercely gripped leather-covered hands. The air was cut as staves were lightly swung as though trying to intimidate everyone there. Claymores hung from backs. Maces were carried over shoulders. Jacob knew who these people were. Knights from Terrasole, the ruling kingdom of the continent.
It was the person in the center who had most of Jacob’s attention. An iron wrought helm studded with gems and inlaid with gold. His polished to a shine armor had a crimson cape thrown over it. Crimson. The color of a vanguard captain.
While the remaining patrons eyed the knights warily, and some even reached for their weapons, Jacob remained calm.
“May I ask what the Knights of Terrasole are doing in my humble bar? If you’ve come to get a drink, then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. I’m getting ready to close up for the night.”
“We’re not here for a drink, Scum!” one of the knights snapped. “Tell us what you—”
“At ease, soldier,” the captain said as he took off his helmet, revealing the chiseled features of an older gentleman with pepper hair and a goatee. “My apologies for my subordinate’s poor behavior. We do not travel this far out very often, and I’m afraid that he’s jittery.”
Jacob eyed the knight who’d spoken out, then focused back on the captain. “There is no need for apologies. However, if you wish to state your business here, now would be the best time to do so.”
The captain nodded. “We’re looking for a young woman. Reports claim that she was last seen within this city.”
“There are a lot of women in this city, captain,” Jacob replied mildly. “If you would like me to state whether I’ve seen the one you’re speaking of, then you’ll need to be more specific.”
“Insolent wretch!” the knight who’d original mouthed off snarled and took a step forward. “I should—”
“I told you to shut up, knight!” the captain snapped.
“When my father—” The other knight started to say, only to snap his mouth shut when the captain turned around and glared.
“Your father placed you in this unit to teach you ethics and the meaning of hard work. He won’t care what I say or do to you,” the captain said. To that, the knight said nothing.
“Newbie?” asked Jacob.
The captain sighed. “He’s the son of a noble. His father is a good man, though, and he asked that we teach him the meaning of right from wrong.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re having much luck,” Jacob said.
With a gallic shrug, the capt
ain could only sigh as he said, “give it time. He’s only been with our unit for a month.”
“If you say so. Now, about that woman…”
“The woman that we’re looking for his young. Reports place her between the age of sixteen and eighteen. She has pink hair, pink eyes, and is said to be exceedingly beautiful.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Might I ask what such upstanding knights want with a girl like that?”
“She’s a murderer!” the knight, who Jacob decided to call douchenozzle number one, said.
The captain’s face turned red. “That’s enough! As of right now, you are under officially probation! I’ll be reporting what transpired here to your father!”
Douchenozzle number one turned pale. “Y-you can’t!”
“I already did! And if you don’t want to suffer even worse, then you’ll do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut from now on!”
Watching the proceedings with a keen eye, Jacob almost snorted. It didn’t look like anything had changed since he left the capital of Terrasole. The nobles were still mostly pigheaded and foolish, the knights still screamed to get their point across, and the people were probably still underrepresented, just as they had always been.
It looks like Alice wasn’t able to control her council, after all. It was a good thing I left when I did.
The captain looked back at him. “The woman we’re after is wanted on charges of theft.”
“Theft?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. “She must have stolen something mighty important if you chased her all the way out here.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to disclose any information pertaining to what was stolen.”
“Of course not.” Sweeping a hand through his tousled, dirty blond hair, Jacob sighed. “And unfortunately for you, I have no information pertaining to the woman you’re talking about. If she is in this town, she hasn’t come to this tavern.”
“Is that so?” the captain grunted, his eyes narrowed. Jacob met his gaze head on with his own placid expression. One second passed. Then two. Three. Finally, the captain sighed. “Very well, then. It seems we have no choice but to continue our search.”
“So it seems.”
The knights all looked ready to groan as the captain started to usher them outside. They must have been traveling for quite some time. Before they could actually leave, however, one of the men near the back glanced at him… and then froze.
His eyes widened to the size of dish plates.
Well, shit.
“I know you!” The knight pointed at him.
Jacob set his rag on the table. “I’m sorry, sir knight, but I’m afraid to say that you don’t know me. You and I have never met before.”
“No, I do know you! I know you! You’re Jacob Stone! You’re the slayer of the Dark Lord!”
Everyone who was in the bar, knight and patron alike, stopped and turned to stare at him. One by one, their eyes widened. One by one, their jaws slowly dropped.
Jacob scowled. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny this man’s accusation—
“By Alaya! You are,” the captain said, his tone of reverent awe rubbing Jacob in all the wrong ways. “It really is you. I only remember seeing you once before you went on your journey, but I’d never forget a face, even if it has matured a great deal. You’re really him. Jacob. The hero who slayed the dark lord, Alucard Blackmore.”
As he spoke, the captain had walked closer and closer, until he was standing right in front of the counter.
Jacob discreetly placed his right hand underneath the table. His finger wrapped around a cold leather hilt.
“So, this is where you’ve been all this time, Lord Jacob,” the captain said. “We had all wondered where you’d gone off to, why you disappeared. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Okay. Two things. First: Do not call me ‘Lord.’ Ever. I repudiated the knighthood granted to me two years ago. Second: Where I was, what I’ve been through, and how I came to be here is none of your business. I’d like to ask that you and your knights now leave.”
“Hold on a moment.” The captain placed his hands on the counter. Jacob twitched. “Please, Lord Jacob. I do not know what went wrong, or why you left, but I beg that you reconsider. Return to the capital with us. The people will be overjoyed to see you again.”
The people.
Jacob almost scowled. As if they would be happy to see him. As if those who lived in the lap of luxury would be pleased if he returned. As if he would even want to return to those people, so slovenly, so decadent. The very thought made him want to puke.
“I am only going to say this one more time,” Jacob said, and he thought he’d done an admirable job of keeping the coldness out of his tone. “Leave. Now.”
“But Lord Jacob! You must return with us! You’re a hero!”
“Correction, I was a hero. Now I’m a barkeep.”
“Why won’t you return with us?” the captain asked, finally losing his composure. “You were our hero! Our savior! Queen Alice would be so pleased if you came back, so why can’t you—”
All words were sliced to ribbons when, without warning, Jacob pulled a knife and stabbed it into the counter directly between the captain’s fore and middle fingers. The captain yelped. He would have stumbled backwards, but Jacob had grabbed the front of his cape and pulled him in until their noses were nearly touching.
“Let me tell you a little story, Captain, about a young boy who was summoned against his will to fight in a war that he had nothing to do with.”
Though his voice was calm, Jacob could feel his emotions slipping. Anger bubbled beneath the surface of his skin. Rage crackled within his heart. The black taste of bitter betrayal was heavy on his tongue.
“There was once a young boy who lived with his family. However, one day, this boy was summoned to an unfamiliar world. The people who summoned him told him that he was the hero who’d been foretold in legends. They said that he had to fight to save them from the dark lord, who was terrorizing their lands. Despite the fact that the boy had no rapport with these people, no sense of duty to aid them, he did anyway.”
The hand clutching the cape tightened as Jacob’s arm shook.
“Despite how he had no love for these people, this boy journeyed out into an unfamiliar world. He faced dangers that would have killed adult men, fought against monsters and assassins that had slain people thrice his age. He fought and killed and bloodied his hands, all for the sake of a kingdom that was not his.”
Jacob would’ve closed his eyes, but that would have done no good. If the visions that plagued his mind like an insidious disease could have been done away with so easily, he would have never become this bitter.
“That boy fought your war, he killed for your kingdom, he stained his hands in the blood of your enemies, and he slayed your dark lord.”
Jacob smiled, but it was not a smile filled with jubilation. There was no happiness in his heart. All he felt was the cold bitterness that came from knowing he’d never be able to return home.
“And now, that boy wants you to get the hell out of his bar,” Jacob finished, his smile gone.
Five years ago, there was a boy.
That boy, who was only twelve at the time, had fought for the sake of a people that were not his own.
He fought. He killed. He became a hero.
However, not all stories of princesses and heroes ended with a happily ever after.
Jacob knew this to be true. He had, after all, lived that life.
Once upon a time…
CHAPTER 1
A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER
All was quiet. Moonlight sprinkled in through the open window. Silent wind caressed the curtains, causing them to sway.
A freshly showered Jacob walked into his bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. The floorboards creaked underneath his feet. Jacob grimaced as he marched further into the room, grabbed the faded pants on his bed, and pulled them on.
This building was old. Faded
walls were marked with stains not from abuse but from age. The ceiling had cracks running through it, and, though the foundation remained sturdy, the support pillars that kept the roof from falling were going to need to be replaced soon. Even now, he could hear them groan as if ghost inhabited the grains.
He had bought it from an elderly woman who’d been on her deathbed. The price had been staying with her for the remaining six months that she’d lived. Afterward, he scattered the remains of her ashes on the wind, to keep them from being used in necromancy, and then he’d proceeded to turn what had once been a house into a bar.
Perhaps it’s Granny Cho’s ghost come back to haunt this place.
The thought amused him.
His bedroom was a simple affair, sparse, and with little to no decoration. It had a bed, a desk, a chest, and a nightstand. He needed nothing else.
“I heard the commotion downstairs, Partner.”
Jacob clicked his tongue as he turned to the voice’s source. Leaning against the desk was a sword sheathed in a crimson scabbard. Black lines ran along the sheath’s surface, swirling designs like an ancient language telling tales of darkness and bloodshed, light and hope. The sword’s hilt was wrapped in leather. The quillons did not look like most crossguards, shaped as it was to resemble a mouth. It was the mouth-shaped quillon that the voice had emerged from.
“What of it?” Jacob asked.
The sword’s name was Durandal. It was a sentient blade that had been forged eons ago, supposedly by the man named Völundr. Jacob didn’t know the truth on how this blade came to be, but he had discovered it in the ancient ruins of Alfheim, the long-forgotten city of the long extinct elven race.
“Nothing much,” Durandal’s mouth clacked as he spoke. “I was just wondering if it was a good idea to fly off the handle like that. From the sounds of it, those people were once your partners, Partner.”
Jacob snorted. “If that’s what you think, then the years must have been hard on you indeed. Those people were far from friends.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so.”
“Well, it’s not like I care,” Durandal said cheerfully before dismissing the whole matter for something more important. “By the way, did I ever tell you about the three little old ladies?”
Journey of a Betrayed Hero- Volume 1 Page 1
