by T. Norman
The Ascent Archives:
Blood-Stained Heir
Copyright © 2016 by JNT Creations
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 or scholarly journal.
First Printing: 2017
ISBN 978-1537511009
“You have your weapons and you know how to use them.”
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Alric Renulf awoke to the sounds of war horns. I thought we were here to make peace, not war. After so many years with a constant threat of battle he learned it was best to sleep dressed in his boiled leather, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Alric pulled his double scabbard to his waist and clasped his emerald cloak around his neck. He always carried two swords: his hand-and-a-half sword that he used for combat purposes, and his short sword that was given to him as a gift by King Rawson when Alric was made a lord. An emerald jewel in the shape of a sun adorned the base of the hilt. He finished buckling his belt, pulled open the flaps of the tent and left.
“Pip, saddle my horse; wait for me outside the King’s tent.” Alric watched as the tall, red-haired boy ran off. Skin and bone, that one, but he has the makings of a knight. Alric trudged through the camp around a flurry of men scrambling to don their armor and get to their positions for the impending battle.
The king’s pavilion stood out among the swarm of tents in front of Alric. The king’s banner, a sun displayed on an emerald background, flew from all corners of the camp. The guards stepped aside as Alric approached the tent. He entered to see members of the High Council standing around a table. General Felix Navaad, a tall, slender man with a broadsword slung across his back, stood next to Lord Kerry Lox, a large man with dark skin who always had beads of sweat dripping down his brow. Master Bastian Seneca, a skinny, gray-haired man draped completely in black, stood next to D’atar Xae, the leader of the Lyedos, who had banded themselves to the king’s cause. Finally, the king’s younger brother, Lord Kevan Rawson, who stood a half head taller than his brother but had the same dirty blond hair, stood next to the king himself, Arturious Rawson, who was clad in emerald armor, his crown sitting upon a matte of hair.
“Thanks for joining us, Alric.” General Navaad was the first to notice Alric enter the pavilion. As he spoke, the rest of the High Council turned in unison to greet their last member.
“Lord Renulf, if you didn’t insist on staying with your men, it wouldn’t take you as long to get here.” Lox dabbed his forehead with a cloth as he spoke.
“If we were attacked in the middle of the night, I would rather awaken next to my men.” Alric moved to join the High Council so they could continue their discussion of the coming battle.
“Welcome, Alric.” Lord Kevan Rawson exchanged a slight nod with the man.
The king interrupted his brother. “Let’s continue with the pressing matters at hand. General Navaad, what is your report?”
Navaad frowned as he told the king of their situation. “Our scouts report that we have enemies in the Skirling Mountains to the north and south of us, with men advancing from their encampment outside Daleon, but we still control Bravestone to the east, Your Grace. In the middle of the night our enemies took out our sentries posted along the Skirling Pass; we have men gathering on the lines to fight, but we don’t have much time before we will be surrounded.”
“How did they overrun our sentries?” Lox questioned. “Isn’t it their job to prevent this kind of thing from happening?”
“The sentries did their job. They managed to get word to us about the attack.” Navaad ground his teeth together in disgust. He knew it wasn’t his fault the sentries were taken, but he still didn’t like being challenged.
“Enough of this,” King Rawson barked. “Our enemies are at our doorstep. What are we going to do about it?”
“We need to break the enemy line if we are going to have any chance of stopping them.” Bastian always spoke with a smile on his face, even in the most drastic of circumstances. For that reason, Alric never fully trusted the master.
“I will take my men and put as much pressure as possible on those coming from the west. Hopefully I can force them to focus most of their attention on me.” Navaad always wanted to be in the thick of things. “D’atar, take your men north.”
D’atar gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
“Kevan, you and your men will go south.” Kevan nodded in understanding.
“Alric, you and your men will be supporting us from camp; assist wherever you are needed. Lox, get your men to the battlements on the keep. You are our last line of defense. If they break the main lines, then it is up to—” Navaad never finished his sentence. Alric turned to see the bowman standing in the doorway. Within seconds, Alric had his sword unsheathed and before the bowman could nock a second arrow, his throat sprayed red. That’s when he heard the screams.
“They’re in the camp!”
“We must defend the camp,” cried the king. “Lox, Kevan, D’atar, gather whatever men you can. We must organize our efforts. Alric and Bastian, go to Bravestone and get the queen and prince to safety.” The king unsheathed his sword and left the tent with the others.
Outside, the scene was chaos. The first thing Alric saw was Pip lying bloodied on the ground, sword in hand and a cut across his chest. The poor lad, at least he died a knight’s death. Alric and Bastian made their way through the camp toward Bravestone, dodging the fighting as they went.
Alric stepped over dozens of bodies wearing a variety of banners and colors, both friends and foes. Bravestone was in sight when Alric and Bastian came upon a dozen armed soldiers. Their leader rode up on a large warhorse clad in black-and-crimson armor. “Who do we have here?” His voice was low and strong. He removed his helmet and Alric immediately recognized him.
“Victor.” Captain Victor Stowen was a warrior rising in the ranks of the Ansaroth Royal Army. He had won countless battles and killed many of Alric’s friends and comrades. He carried a longsword on his back and could wield it with deadly power.
“Rah!” Alric turned to see King Rawson and Lord Lox riding to
ward them with a group of men following. Captain Stowen’s men charged to meet the king’s men as they rushed to battle. Arturious rode up to Alric immediately. “Get to the castle,” he ordered. “No matter what, don’t come back; I need you to get my wife and son to safety! The kingdom depends on you.”
Alric drew his sword and fought his way through the men with Bastian at his side. Bastian wielded only a staff, but he used it with great skill. As they came into view of the castle gates, a man dove out from behind a tent, driving a spear toward Alric’s side. He swung his sword to parry the blow, feeling the clash of wood on metal. He recovered from the blow and pierced the man through his side.
As the man fell, Alric took a second to look back at the crowd of men fighting. He saw Arturious riding toward Lord Stowen with sword in hand. Alric held his breath as he saw Arturious’s overhand swing being deflected. Stowen was known for his power, but he showed his speed by slashing the warhorse’s hind before the king left his range. Arturious’s horse stumbled and dropped to the ground. Victor was on the king in seconds, swinging wildly before he could recover from his fall. “No!” Kerry Lox cried as he dove between the king and Victor in time to block Victor’s swing. When their swords clashed, Lox lost his grip and his sword went flying. Alric could see a look of horror on Lox’s face as he stared Victor in the eyes. Victor spun and swung his blade in one swift movement. Lox’s body fell limp as his head tumbled to the side. Arturious was on his feet as Bastian called to Alric.
“Alric, come on! We have to go, now!” Alric felt Bastian tug on his arm, trying to pull him toward Bravestone.
“We can’t leave His Grace!” Alric pulled free from Bastian’s grasp to turn and see Victor’s sword pierce Arturious’s stomach. “He could still live! We need to go save him.”
Bastian pulled Alric to face him, and for the first time Alric saw him without a smile. “Arturious was my friend as well as yours, but he’s gone,” he said. “We still have a role to play. We must find Anna and Raphael and get them to safety.” Alric turned back to see Victor standing over the king’s limp body, blood dripping from the tip of his sword.
Bastian and Alric came upon the locked gates of Bravestone. “Who goes there?” called a man from the wall, looking down his bow at the men approaching.
“Master Bastian Seneca and Lord Alric Renulf.”
As the gates opened, Bastian and Alric were ushered through. “Have Queen Anna and her family get their things ready, we need to leave now,” Alric snapped at a nearby guard.
“There’s a problem with that, sir. The queen is in labor.”
D’atar rushed through the gate, his clothes soaked in blood from the battle. “Arturious is dead.”
Alric stopped dead in his tracks just a few feet inside the gate, reliving the shock of seeing the king killed only moments before.
“Lox as well, and now the queen is in labor.” Alric cast his gaze down to hide his tears as Bastian spread the news.
“They’re attacking the walls!” cried a guard from atop the battlements.
“We need to go find the queen, now!” Bastian called to Alric and D’atar.
The three men followed a guard through the castle, toward the queen’s chambers. Alric knew they were getting close when the queen’s screams overtook the sounds of the battle being waged outside. It took some time for the men to make their way through the castle, up to the tower where the queen’s chambers were. As they came upon her chamber, her handmaiden came out of her room with a look of distress on her face. “I’m sorry, Master, but Her Highness didn’t make it.”
“How’s the baby?” Alric had to know the fate of the newborn. On a day full of so much sorrow, he was looking for something to give him hope.
“The baby is fine. She’s completely healthy.”
Bastian gave a nod. “Leave us for a moment, please.” The handmaiden bowed and went back into the queen’s chambers. “We need to keep the baby safe. I think it would be best if we separated her and her brother, at least for now.” Alric lifted the newborn into his arms as the other two men made their plan.
“What can I do to assist?” responded D’atar.
“I will take some of the remaining men and Raphael back to Ellsdorf. Right now King Stowen doesn’t know about the baby, and I would like to keep it that way.”
“I’ll take her.” Alric knew it was his job to watch over the newborn. “Where should I go?”
“There is a small path leading out on the north side of the fort. If you go quickly, you should be able to move undetected. D’atar, can you guide Alric through the Skirling Mountains?”
“Of course. I will keep them safe.”
“I have a contact that you should meet up with. He will raise the girl as his own.” Bastian hesitated. “Alric, you should name her.”
“It’s not my place,” Alric hesitated, as well, the sorrow of the child’s loss settling in. “But then again, she doesn’t have much family left. I’ll name her after my mother,” he said after another moment’s thought. A tear slid down Alric’s cheek as he held the baby in his arms.
“We need to leave now. Their full force is almost at the main gate.” D’atar peered out a tower window, watching and listening to the battle outside.
“One last question. Where exactly are we going?”
“The last place they would ever look for her.” Bastian had a smile on his face again, and Alric knew immediately that he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Take her to Ansaroth.”
1
“Concentrate. Focus your breathing. When you’re ready, release.” Rysh Trell stood behind Gant, giving him advice as he drew his bow. His target, a small doe, bent its head down unknowingly, eating grass. Rysh saw Gant tense up to release his arrow. “AH!” yelled Rysh. Gant jumped, releasing his arrow wildly into the woods. The doe fled immediately, startled by the sudden noise.
“Dad! What was that for?” Gant turned and punched his dad in the arm, his frustration clearly visible on his face.
Rysh was laughing hysterically. “I told you to concentrate.”
“Well, I can’t with you yelling at me!” Gant crossed his arms in irritation.
“In battle, you never know what distractions will come up. It could be swords clashing, wood breaking, or even someone screaming over your shoulder. I didn’t do it to pick on you.” Rysh tried to stifle his laugh, even though it was a lot of fun. “You need to learn to block everything out and focus solely on your target.” Rysh put an arm around Gant’s neck and rubbed his hair with his knuckles. “Keep your head up, Gant. You’re still young, you will get better with practice.”
“I’m almost sixteen, Dad. You were in the city guard at my age. When can I join?” Rysh looked at Gant and saw himself at that age. They had the same light brown hair and looked strikingly alike; the only difference was that Gant stood a head shorter and didn’t have a beard like his father.
“I know, but that was a different time. Ansaroth and Dusseldorf were waging war. We were under constant threat of being attacked. Ever since the battle of the Skirling Pass, things have been calm.” Rysh looked at his son with a solemn stare. “I lost my childhood because of that war. I don’t want the same for you.”
“Fine, but when I’m old enough, I want to join the Royal Army. It’s where I belong.” Rysh could see the desire in Gant’s eyes.
“We’ll see.” Rysh rubbed Gant’s head again. “Let’s head back. I’m on watch soon.”
Rysh and Gant walked through the woods back into Wayton, a small town along the North Rush River. The mountain pass from the Skirling Mountains east of town was the only major road through Wayton, and it led directly toward Lord Briar’s tower in the center of the city. Wayton didn’t have a wall surrounding it; instead, the buildings were designed with only four openings toward the outer sides, one facing each cardinal direction, which could be closed with large wooden gates.
As Gant and Rysh walked into town, Gant ran off to Gayle Vellum’s house. Rysh made his way to the sout
h gate for his patrol duty. Waiting for him were Samuel Barron and Don Klight. Sam was leaning on his longbow, with his long black hair tied back in a braid, displaying his youth. He was Wayton’s head archer and Gant’s teacher. Don kept his gray hair cut to his skull and always had his battle-axe swinging from his belt. He was the head of the city guard, and one of Rysh’s oldest friends.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it on time.” Even though they were good friends, Don didn’t appreciate Rysh showing up late for watch duty.
“You have Sam to blame. If he would properly teach Gant to shoot a bow, I would be on time.”
“Don’t drag me into your mess!” Sam slung his longbow over his shoulder. “He’s your student now, not mine. Besides, I just taught him how to shoot a bow; you’re supposed to take care of the rest.”
“Enough bickering. We have a job to do.” Don scolded the men.
The city watch patrolled the outer edges of the city to keep its citizens safe, but also to watch that mountain bears and stray wolves didn’t venture too close to the city.
“Gant asked to join the Royal Army again today,” Rysh confided in his fellow guards.
“The kid’s got guts, I’ll give him that.” Sam threw his head back with a smile. “If only he had a brain to go with it, then he wouldn’t be so stupid.” Sam staggered mid-step. “Sorry, Don, I always forget that you were part of the Royal Army.”
“It’s fine, lad. Those days are long behind me.” Don scanned the trees as the men moved around the exterior of the city. “I prefer this life of peace. Don’t take it for granted; one day it will all be gone.”
The men continued their patrol around the wall, stopping to help a couple farmers gather their cattle along the way. After they returned to the south gate, Sam took up his post, Don returned to Lord Briar’s tower to report the findings of the patrol, and Rysh went to check on his sword.
As Rysh approached the blacksmith, he could hear the master of arms at work.
“Good afternoon, Mic,” Rysh shouted over the banging of steel. Mic’s dark brown skin glistened with sweat. He was of average height, and Rysh could see the definition of his muscles as he lifted his hammer.
