the Acquisition of Swords (the New Age Saga Book 1)

by Timothy Ray

  Candlelight flickered across the drapes as he walked slowly into the dimly lit interior. He knew the layout by heart, his father hadn’t changed a thing since his mother’s death. He edged around the side of the king-sized bed and looked upon the slumbering monarch.

  His father was under several blankets and didn’t stir when he approached. That was odd; his father had always been a light sleeper; made worse by the aches and pains of old age. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the slight rise and fall of his father’s chest. The King’s long gray hair shook as his son reached down and tried to wake him. Love and affection rose to the forefront of his heart; bypassing the ache he’d felt at his father’s fragile state.

  The old man refused to open his eyes. He listened for a moment and upon hearing a sharp intake of breath, began shaking the old man harder; panic setting in.

  “Guards!” he bellowed over his shoulder; not sure if anyone would hear. To his relief, the door opened and a patrolman entered. “Summon the clerics immediately!”

  Without waiting to see if the guard would react, he placed his ear on the King’s chest, barely hearing a heartbeat. “Shit!” He turned the old man flat on his back and looked for water. The old man’s lips were dry and had begun to turn purple; his face ashen.

  The candle’s flame pulsed slowly, as if counting down what remained of his father’s life.

  He grabbed the pitcher of water on the bedside table and reached for the cup. The pitcher was tilted, water about to flow, when he saw something odd in the cup’s bottom. His hand opened and the pitcher crashed against the floor. There was a silver crust caked on the inside and he took a quick sniff; the floral aroma setting his heart ablaze as his mind screamed poison!

  A white robed cleric burst through the doors, two guards on his heels. A family physician since his father had been a boy, the elderly man was one of the only people he’d truly trust with his father’s care. The cleric laid a hand on his father’s chest and spoke in an ancient language, calling upon God to heal his dying friend.

  He stood up, feeling helpless, and saw the two gawking guards standing in the doorway. “Seal the palace! No one leaves without my permission!”

  “Yes, my Lord,” they managed before his wrath. They bowed their heads, then departed before he tore into them further.

  When they were outside of the palace, the Guardians saw to their safety, but within these walls it fell to the palace guard. Looking down upon his dying father, he knew that was soon going to change. His brother wouldn’t have disappeared into thin air or his father been poisoned, had proper precautions and protections been in place.

  “I’m sorry, my healing prayers were heard, but there is no answer. For whatever reason, God has decided it’s time to call your father home. All we can do is wait and see if He changes his mind,” the exhausted cleric told him grimly.

  “My father is going to die,” he stated with detachment; eyes seeing but not believing. His voice had broken near the end, grief starting to rise within his heart. He cleared his throat and tried to straighten up.

  “Unless we can discover the nature of the poison and find an antidote, yes. However, I fear it has already progressed too far for even that. For now, he sleeps, but that won’t last. You have a few hours at most. He’s in God’s hands.”

  “Your God has nothing to do with this,” he spat. “Get out!”

  The elder man grimaced at his blasphemy, but had been through this many times, and knew what grief could do to a man. The cleric bowed and backed out of the room, leaving the son to attend his dying father. He heard whispered conversation, but didn’t turn to find the source. Tears had begun to form and he wiped an arm across his face to clear his vision.

  Clint stepped out of the shadows and stood by his side. “The guards passed me in the hall on their way to bar the palace doors. I came as fast as I could.”

  He ignored him.

  “If I may offer a bit of council?” the aide offered, and when greeted with silence, pushed on anyways. “It’s not a good idea for anyone to know your father was poisoned. It will do more damage than good. Fear of the approaching army has the entire kingdom on edge; this will send things spiraling out of control.”

  It was the smartest thing he’d ever heard the aide say, but he still would not respond, only nodded absently.

  “Stay here with your father; be here for him. Trust that we will find the fiend responsible for this outrage. When we do, I’ll dispatch the man myself,” Clint swore, his eyes blazing. “You may be King sooner than we thought. Don’t let revenge cloud your heart. You will need a clear mind if you are to lead us through the dark days ahead.”

  One of the guards returned. “Sire, the palace has been secured and thoroughly searched. We haven’t found anything yet,” the scared man stuttered; awaiting the Prince’s wrath.

  “Keep looking,” he commanded softly. “And find my brother. Tell the Captain of the Guardians I want to see him immediately.”

  The guard snapped too and disappeared. Clint, however, was still hovering. “Sire, they won’t find your brother.”

  His eyes rose from his father’s strained face and met the aide’s stare. “Why?”

  Clint coughed, then looked to see if anyone else was listening. Apparently, they were alone with the dying King. “Earlier this afternoon, I came upon your father, brother, his fiancé, and a strange man having a whispered conversation in your brother’s chambers. I got the feeling that no one was to know about it.”

  “Who was this stranger?” John asked hoarsely, the wheels in his mind turning. Did his brother have something to do with this? That was impossible. What the hell was going on?

  “I don’t know, Sire. But I did hear on my way out that Tristan and Willow were to leave with this other man, despite your father’s wishes that he remain here by his side. There was a horrible argument, Sire. I should have brought this to your attention immediately. I fear that my silence may have caused the death of my King,” Clint said, near tears. “That man was insistent that they go with him. There’s no telling what he would have done to see that your father didn’t interfere with their escape. I offer my life in exchange for the harm I’ve caused.” The aide drew his dagger and held it hilt out for John to take.

  The rage blossoming in John’s chest was near explosive. “Stow your dagger. You know what this man looked like? Get the fuck out there and find him; all of them! I want the three of them caught, no matter how far they’ve gotten; no matter how long they run. Do you hear me? Now!”

  Clint staggered backwards, then hastened to get out of the room before John followed through on taking his life.

  He barely heard the door shut behind him as he knelt next to the old man; tears flowing freely. He loved his brother, but if he had a hand in this—he’d hang with the other two; oncoming horde be damned.

  “Don’t die Father,” the little boy in him cried. He reached out and took the old man’s hand in his and closed his eyes to pray.

  III

  “Wake up,” Willow commanded, shaking him violently.

  Snapping awake, he looked around wildly. “What’s wrong?”

  The rest of the camp was in movement, with the exception of Token, who was snoring louder than any bear he’d ever heard. Merlin was walking towards the dwarf, and while he watched, the mage upended a bowl of water over Token’s head.

  “Whit th’ heel?” Token bellowed, kicking out his feet and catching the passing Reyna in the shin.

  “Watch it, Dwarf,” she snarled, kicking him in the ass with a plated boot.

  The short man howled in pain. “Och ye wee witch!” Token screamed, rolling on his side and climbing to his feet. “Wa th’ heel am Ah waukin’, it’s still mirk!”

  “We need to move,” the mage told the soaked, limping dwarf.

  Willow was by his side, watching as the others put on their armor and finished packing. They hadn’t taken anything out of their bags after arriving the night before and were ready to go. His mind
was sluggish, his brain still trying to wake up, and he stood in stunned silence as the others rushed to be ready as well.

  “What’s wrong?” his fiancé asked the scowling mage.

  “Scouting parties are scouring the countryside looking for us,” Merlin replied, heading to his horse. The others were following suit as the mage paused and had a whispered conversation with Kylee. She nodded her head, gave Tuskar a swift glance, then the two sprinted for the grasslands and were quickly out of sight.

  “What scouts?” he managed. If the horde was that close, then the castle could already be under siege.

  “Does it matter? I promised your father I’d protect you, and that means you need to get on your horse and stay by my side,” the mage told him from his saddle.

  Jared tied his blindfold on, then pulled himself up beside them. “Kylee says three scouts are heading this way, she’s going to try and distract them.”

  Token was nowhere close to being ready to leave. In fact, he looked like he was about to fix himself breakfast.

  “He’ll catch up. They’re after you, not him. He usually brings up the rear,” Merlin told him, turning his horse west. “We’ve got to go. Token, we’ll see you soon.”

  Kore had pulled himself onto a large brown stallion and now they were all mounted, awaiting the mage’s signal to depart. Merlin’s horse leapt forward and Tristan nudged his own to do the same. The full moon was partially obscured by clouds, but there was enough light to see their immediate surroundings. Windel and Preik were bringing up the rear and he was suddenly glad they had come along.

  Willow riding hard beside him, they plunged towards the oncoming forest ahead. He wasn’t sure who they were running from or why, but you could be sure that he’d find out once they came to a stop. Was this a sign of what his life was like now; always on the run and never a full nights’ rest?

  He sighed, lowered his head, and followed the others into the darkness.

  IV

  Her name was Bella, and she was named after her grandmother on her father’s side. She was an only child, though she was certain her parents were still trying. Elves were hard to predict when it came to pregnancy, so who knew when or if it’d happen again. It just made her father spoil her all the more. And to her mother’s dismay, she’d become more of a tomboy then a curly haired princess wearing pink frilly dresses.

  She had been taught how to use a sword after weeks of badgering the Captain of the Home Guard. He had thought she’d take a few licks, get dirt in her mouth one too many times, and quickly lose interest. It had surprised him when she picked herself up and continued to push for more. Eventually she became proficient with both the sword and the bow; earning the older man’s respect.

  When her mother had found out, she had been furious. Though her father agreed with her mother when they were together; he’d occasionally show up during their sparring sessions and take up a sword himself. He silently encouraged her—until she had decided to take up jousting. He felt it was too dangerous for someone of her station, being the only heir to the throne, and fatal accidents were known to occur no matter what precautions were taken.

  She’d done it anyway.

  Riding a horse came natural to her, and from the age of three, she had been constantly glued to her well-worn saddle. Like everything else in her life, she’d thrown herself into it full force until satisfied she’d mastered it. Her horse’s name was Shadowraven, and he was the best stallion in all of Forlorn; or so she told people. He was pure black, with the exception of the gray tufts of hair covering his hooves. They’d grown up together, and he was the closest thing she had to a friend.

  Not a social butterfly to begin with; she had no patience for anyone trying to cozy up to her to get to her father. The girls she couldn’t understand; they had no common interest. The boys avoided her because they considered her a freak of nature, and they didn’t like losing to a girl.

  The moon had been up for more than an hour when she snuck out of the castle.

  She had retrieved Shadowraven, rode past the sentries guarding the gates and out onto the grassy plains before the walls of the fortress; her home. These days, there were scouts traversing the kingdom keeping an eye out for invaders, but she knew their patrol paths, and made sure they wouldn’t intersect with her own.

  Twenty minutes later, she was riding Shadowraven at full gallop with her arms thrown wide; soaking in the full moon’s light. She called upon the Gods to accept her love and enjoyed the feeling of the wind as it ripped past.

  Without warning, the saddle was gone from between her thighs, and she was flying headfirst into the dirt.

  She hit the ground hard, the impact jarring her body, her shoulder exploding in agony. Lights lingered over her vision as she spat a wad of dirt out of her mouth. Her hand went to her head and felt tacky liquid trickling down from a laceration on her forehead. Moaning, she tried to shift her legs so she could sit up, but her feet were entangled in rope. She clutched her shoulder and rolled over; the full moon red with the blood running down her face.

  There was a grunt to her left and she panicked. Jerking her head in that direction, she only caught a glimpse of a darkened silhouette before a bag was placed over her head; her vision cut off. She screamed as her hands were pulled behind her, shoulder flaring with increased pain.

  “She gonna die? Mistress won’t like it if she die,” came a slimy voice from directly behind her, the creature’s nasty breath upon her neck. She heard the thumps of multiple feet approaching, and she cringed; fear overtaking her completely.

  They stopped at her side, then she felt slimy hands begin pawing at her aching body. “She not gonna die, we good,” proclaimed another creepy voice.

  “Let me go you scum!” she screamed, in vain hopes someone might hear. She knew it was hopeless, she’d planned too well in avoiding the patrols, but she had to at least try. How had she been so stupid? “Do you know who I am? Do you know what my father will do to you when he finds me?”

  There was laughter as she was hoisted onto the back of a horse, then ropes began tying her down. “We know Princess of Griedlok. Our Queen commanded bring you, so we bring.”

  “She scare us more.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Oh shut up, you are.”

  “No, Vikar tough, I scared no one.”

  Thump

  More laughter. “Now you on ass. Look scared of me, I say.”

  There was a chuckle, then a piercing scream.

  She jerked in response. She’d lost her sight and she couldn’t smell crap in the nasty bag they’d placed over her head. All she had were her ears, and she was trying to memorize every detail in case she needed it later.

  A weapon was unsheathed, small due to the lack of duration of sound, and then used on one of her captors. Was it possible they’d kill each other off and she’d escape?

  Someone was in agony, while three distinct voices laughed in response. “Who on ass now? Maybe I take ear, wear on necklace around neck?”

  A hand touched her thigh and she went completely still. Despite how calm she tried to be, her lips were trembling, and her heart thudded heavily upon her squashed breasts. The hand slid up higher and rested on her ass.

  She cringed in horror; they were feeling her up.

  “Don’t worry my pet,” purred the creature sliding a finger along the curves of her butt. “When others sleep, you and Lugg be best friends.”

  Something leathery and wet ran up her arm, and the moment she realized it was a tongue, she screamed as hard and loud as she could. “Get off me! Leave me alone! Help!”

  “Hey, what you doin’?”

  “Look like Lugg stealing girl.”

  “Maybe slit throat, leave Lugg here.”

  “Get away. I kill you come near.”

  “Come here Lugg, come play,” three voices softly purred in unison. Chills ran up her back. Though she was happy for the short reprieve, she doubted the other three’s intentions were honorable either. She s
truggled against her bindings, but she had been tied well. With despair, she knew there was nothing she could do but wait and pray that an off-course patrol found her before it was too late.

  “Back I say.”

  “Vikar get ear, Crag get ear, I want nose.”

  Metal clashed. The horse backed away a few steps, but refused to move any further; no matter how much she wiggled. Something hot and slimy splashed her back. Her shirt was now plastered and her arm stung as the hot liquid slid down it.

  “Be shame not eat him.”

  “No time. Patrol soon.”

  “Can’t leave here.”

  “Put on other horse, take with, eat later.”

  “Ooooo, snack for road. Good idea. Vikar smart.”

  When she heard that a patrol might be coming, she decided this was the last chance she’d get. Taking a deep breath, she screamed at the top of her lungs, making sure it’d be heard for miles. Her lungs burned, her body was wracked in pain, and she was now covered in what had to be blood.

  “Shut her up! Filthy elves hear!”

  With the clanking of metal, thudding footsteps approached the horse she had been tied too. She was in the process of winding up for another wail, when someone struck square in the face, breaking her nose with a loud crunch. Her scream died in her throat and she felt her vision begin to darken. Voices continued on, but she was half hearing them now, on the verge of blacking out.

  “Tie him on. Hurry. Time to go.”

  “We know, we know. We hurry.”

  “You help too.”

  “We get caught, she kill us.”

  “Girl? She tied up. No hurt.”

  “Not girl. Phoenix.”

  “Don’t say name dumbhead. Don’t want her hearing.”

  “Let’s go.”

  As her mind let go, all she could hear in her head was that name repeating over and over. Phoenix. Phoenix. Phoenix. Phoenix.