Braylon nodded. He had come to the same conclusion, but not having to check the ruins to the east was a valuable piece of information. His search grid was getting smaller and smaller.”
Braylon remounted his horse. As he did he took an apple from his pack and tossed it up into the trees where the bandit Jerron was hiding. Before the apple reached the bandit, Braylon threw a dagger that struck the apple, pinning it to the tree beside Jerron’s head. The sneaky bandit’s eyes were almost as big as the apple as he examined the knife inches from his face. “Perhaps next time you’ll keep your bow down and not drawn when you stand behind me. Wouldn’t want there to be any confusion on your intentions.” Braylon turned to the bandit who had answered his questions, “Thank you, have a good day.”
As Braylon rode away. he could hear the first bandit cursing out his friend in the tree, “You dumb shit, are you trying to get us all killed? That was Braylon Gaines. He’s kill more men than the plague. Now get out of that tree so I can beat your stupid ass!”
Braylon smirked as he rode away. His gas wasn’t quite that bad, but it was good to know that the local bandits knew who he was. His farts might not kill them, but if they had lied to him, not a soul in that camp would live past the morning. Braylon would come back and slit all their throats.
The Dark forest got thicker and denser with underbrush as it went north. Trails often lasted only years if they were not maintained. The wild part of the forest also was home to the swamps, murky and treacherous waters with plenty of poisonous snakes and other creepy crawlers. At one time the land had been home to several farms that took advantage of the fertile soil between the forest and the swamps. But over the years, the farms had all been abandoned as the farmers died. Between the dangerous swamps, filled with quicksand and deadly creatures, and other more hideous creatures from beyond the swamps that no one spoke of, the farms were considered cursed. Many of the farmers who had died there had not been of natural causes. Locals avoided the area like the plague.
Braylon knew the farms weren’t cursed, in fact he often thought about settling down and working one of the farms once he finished working as a sellsword. That plan had changed once he met Shayla Finch. Braylon had been sent by an employer to meet up with a merchant mage at his home and wait for the shipment they were to guard. For a week, Braylon had stayed at Oakenreach Estates, but it had only taken one chance encounter during a moon-lit walk through his hosts gardens to fall in love. Shayla didn’t feel the same, but that didn’t stop her from flirting and capturing Braylon’s heart. He accepted that Shayla’s interest in him resided mostly in his sword.
As he got closer to the first farm, Braylon got off his horse and tied the animal to a tree. From here on, he would walk. Silently, Braylon made his way through the thick brush and trees. He could see a movement coming from the window of the old stone farmhouse. Someone was here.
The evening sun was fading fast into the forest leaves. Shadows crept further and further as night chased away the sun. Braylon sat under a thick bukkerberry bush where he could see into the open lands where the old abandoned stone farmhouse sat. Every few minutes he could see a shadow moving past the window. Someone was walking a pattern around the house, someone was on guard duty.
If there was a guard, there was something worth guarding. Braylon had found the right place. With a guard inside the house, it was likely there was also a sentry out here in the woods. One who would spot anyone walking from the woods across the open field to the house. In order to get to the old house undetected Braylon needed to find the sentry. Braylon closed his eyes and listened to the forest, getting used to the sounds of the soft breeze brushing against the bukkerberry bush foliage. In the distance he could hear birds chirping. Placing his sword on the ground, Braylon stepped away from the bush and back into the forest, cutting across so that he was walking twenty feet from the edge of the clearing around the farm field. Slowly he stalked through the forest, each step placed with care not to make a sound. His eyes scanned the woods ahead as he hunted his prey.
A small sound stopped Braylon in his tracks. The noise, soft and subtle, could have been overlooked had it not been for where it came from. The noise had come from up in the trees and coincided with the ending of the birds chirping. Something had moved in a tree, startling the singing creatures. Braylon froze and took his time scanning the branches ahead of him. One large oak seemed to have an unusual bump on its side, one that could be a shoulder sticking out from where a man sat on the other side of the tree. Braylon moved sideways until he had a better angle. Once he was over more, he could see the sentry sitting in the tree watching the field.
The sentry, sitting in his high perch, had a great view of the field in front of the farm house but he could not see into the forest behind him. Braylon slowly made his way around until he was directly behind the sentry’s tree. He then walked up until he was only a few short feet from the oak tree. From there Braylon had an unobstructed view of the sentry. Taking out one of his knives, Braylon sent the small blade flying through the air where it found its mark, hitting the sentry in the side just below the man’s shoulder, going through his ribs until the tip of the blade sat in the sentry’s heart. The sentry fell to the forest floor with a thump. Braylon studied the farmhouse to see if the sound of the sentry hitting the ground was noticed. Braylon could see no movement.
Braylon retrieved his dagger, pulling it from the sentry’s ribs and then wiped the blade clean on the dead man’s shirt. He then returned to the bukkerberry bush and retrieved his sword. Walking through the woods, Braylon made his way back through the trees until he was standing in a spot that could not be seen from the front wall of the stone farmhouse. He then left the forest and made his way across the field until he was standing beside the old stone building. Braylon slid along the wall until he was beside the window. Old, half-rotten wooden shutters barely covered the window’s opening. Behind the shutters, Braylon could see the empty main entrance was empty. It didn’t take long until Braylon could hear the footsteps of the guard coming back into the room. When the guard came up to the window to look out into the field, Braylon slammed his hand through the window, grabbing the guard by the front of his tunic. Braylon pulled hard on the tunic until the guard’s face smashed into the top of the stone windowsill. Braylon could feel the man going slack under his grip, but to make sure the man was indeed incapacitated Braylon slammed his head against the stones a second time. Braylon released his grip on the man, letting him slide down the wall. Braylon opened the door to the old house and stepped inside.
Besides the unconscious guard the room was empty, but Braylon could hear soft sounds from further in the large old building. Down the hallway, Braylon walked until he found a kitchen. There two men were laughing as they ate their stew.
Braylon took two daggers in hand and stepped into the room. The first dagger found the back of one man while the other dagger sunk into the chest of the other. The man had his bowl of stew up to his face and never saw his death coming.
On the other side of the kitchen was another hallway leading to two doors. Bedrooms, thought Braylon as he pulled out his sword. Braylon walked to the two doors, one on each side of the hallway. The first one was locked, so he tried the second. The door opened and Braylon was looking at a large empty bedroom, the bed was used and another set of blankets was laid out on the floor. This is where the Sacred Brotherhood slept.
Steadying himself for the possibilities of what was behind the first door, Braylon breathed deep and then slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking it open and sending himself hurling into the room. Two men were in the room. One was sitting on a chair in front of a wooden pole. Tied to the pole was Shayla, alive but in the process of being whipped by the second man standing behind her.
The man sitting down stood up and stared at Braylon, shocked that he was standing there.
Before the man could say anything, Braylon’s sword sliced through his neck, sending his head toppling towards the floor. The man wi
th the whip struck out in retaliation. The whip twirled around Braylon’s sword. The man went to yank his whip back, intending to pull the sword from Braylon’s hands. However, this was not Braylon’s first time fighting against a warrior with a whip.
As soon as the sturdy leather went around his blade, Braylon drove the tip into the thick plank flooring. When the warrior pulled back on the whip with all his strength, the blade didn’t budge. The whip stretched under the heavy strain and then shot from the warrior’s hand.
The warrior roared and ran towards Braylon, pulling out a large dagger as he came forward.
Calmly, Braylon waited for the man to get close before pulling his daggers out. While the other men had all died quick deaths, this one, the one who whipped Shayla, was about to meet a different end.
The warrior tried to strike Braylon with his dagger. Stabbing and moving, but each time he tried to strike Braylon one dagger would block his strike while the other made a small cut on his forearm. The warrior, ignoring the pain, kept moving forward, trying to stab Braylon.
Braylon backed away, blocking and slicing the man for each attempted strike. Each cut was minuscule but as the cuts added up, more blood started to flow from the warrior’s forearm.
Determined to kill Braylon, the warrior switched hands so that the blade was in his non-injured hand. However, the results were the same. Each attempted stab ended with the warrior being cut.
Braylon then changed tactics and started attacking the man. Instead of cutting his arms, Braylon’s attacks found his legs, his torso and his face. Tiny cuts covered the man’s body. Blood flowed freely and the warrior weakened by the loss of blood moved slower and slower. Braylon knocked the man’s knife away, and kicked the man in the chest. Sending him sprawling across the room. The warrior, too weak to get up, sat on the floor and closed his eyes. He was not dead, but would soon be.
His need for vengeance sated, Braylon dropped his weapons and checked on Shayla. Her head hung down but she was conscious.
“Took your bloody time getting here,” said Shayla. Her voice cracked and was weak.
“I can’t leave you alone can I? Gone for one measly trip and you get yourself kidnapped and tortured,” replied Braylon as he carefully untied Shayla’s arms and stood her up.
“I knew you would come,” said Shayla. “I kept remembering all the times you swore you were quitting and becoming a farmer. I just knew you would be the one to think of the old farmer on the swamp.”
Braylon picked Shayla up in his arms and carried her out of the house. “You could’ve cleaned the place up a bit for me while you were here.”
Shayla shook her head, “They can torture me all they want, I’m never becoming a farmer’s wife.”
“Never?” asked Braylon as he carried her to his horse.
“Not without servants, and a good cook,” said Shayla before she passed out.
33
KING GRAMALT BENT OVER TO SMELL a budding flower. He inhaled the aromatic scent. “Lovely, just lovely,” he said to the lord beside him.
“Your highness, I’ve heard a troubling rumor,” said Lord Tyree Horne as he stood in the palace gardens beside the ruler, walking through the flower filled walkway.
“Oh? And what rumor might that be Lord Horne.”
“That Lord Lamar has made an open tournament for the hand of his daughter.”
“That is no rumor, Lord Horne, it will be an open tournament. Not my preferred choice in the matter, but an interesting one. It will be rather amusing to watch.”
“Your Highness, do you not find this a touch vulgar? A young maiden with exceptional bloodlines possibly being wasted upon some low-bred warrior? Surely, you must insist on a royal tournament in the proper fashion.”
“Lord Horne, I find the whole thing to be vulgar. I forced Lord Lamar to hold a tournament against his wishes for the benefit of the kingdom. I’m not a fan of the old traditions and if I weren’t preoccupied with the return of dragons, I’d make a point of changing this tradition. As it happens, I can’t oversee every little detail in the kingdom. I instructed Lord Lamar to hold a tournament on his daughter’s seventeenth birthday and for the winner of that tournament to gain her hand in marriage. Lord Lamar is completely capable of organizing a tournament without me there to hold his hand. I understand that you don’t like the format he has chosen. However, the winter solstice tournament is as old and as sacred as any other tournament and there is precedence for having an open tournament during a marriage ceremony. Lord Lamar hasn’t broken any law or disobeyed my word, so the tournament will go as he planned.”
“I must protest, Your Highness, this is rather unusual. I fail to see how an open tournament benefits anyone. As for the subject of dragons, surely you don’t believe those old wives’ tales of their return?”
“That is twice now you’ve questioned me, Lord Horne, I suggest you do not try for a third today. My patience is running rather thin. Lord Lamar is one of my most loyal subjects, his lands are also among the most strategically placed in the kingdom, as I know you are well aware. I cannot afford to push the man on something so trivial. I know you have plans and expect your son to win the tournament. He will simply have more competition than you planned on. And when it comes to old wives’ tales, you should take heed. I do believe they are returning and soon.”
Lord Horne bowed his head, “My apologies, Your Highness. I am confident Talon will win regardless of who else is in the tournament. My only concern is for the propriety of royal tradition to be preserved. Have you any evidence of dragons returning yet?”
“No,” admitted King Gramalt, “but we have ancient scrolls that tell the tale, and we’ve had an alarming number of Sacred Blood Brotherhood sightings within the kingdom. They have been growing more and more bold as the date comes closer.”
“Thank you for your time, King Gramalt, I do enjoy walking through your gardens. They are a blessing upon a weary soul.”
King Gramalt didn’t believe a word out of Lord Horne’s mouth, Lord Horne was by far the most ambitious and ruthless of the lords who owed him allegiance, and the most likely to make a play for the throne. However, King Gramalt preferred to keep his enemies close, so he indulged Lord Horne with his frequent requests for audiences despite his dislike for the arrogant man. “Always a pleasure, Lord Horne. You should return next month when the arianta roses come into bloom and the whole garden is awash in color.”
“That sounds delightful,” said Lord Horne.
Both men gave each other fake smiles before parting ways.
…
“What did the king say?” asked Talon Horne.
Lord Horne, having returned to his lands in the west of Droll, slumped down into his chair. Chasing down King Gramalt just to have a few words with him was tiresome. “It shall be an open tournament.”
Talon Horne just shrugged off the news. He was the finest swordsman on the island and had won the last open tournament. It didn’t matter to him what style of tournament the Lamar family put on. It was his father that had a hair up his ass about royal traditions. Talon would win the tournament either way, and the bitch Sibylle would be his wife. An annoying thought, but his father insisted it was the first step towards their family ruling all of Droll.
“That isn’t all the news,” continued Lord Horne. “King Gramalt says that the Sacred Blood Brotherhood is back. He also thinks that dragons will return.” Lord Horne had discarded all the whispers of dragons returning as nonsense, and still believed that to be true. However, the Sacred Blood Brotherhood was something entirely different. He believed in their existence and despised the zealots. If they were rising in power, it could mean a shift in power. Lord Horne intended to one-day rule all of the Droll Isle. But the Brotherhood had a nasty habit of overthrowing kings, and killing royals. They blamed the old bloodlines for the actions of dragons and swore to kill all living descendants of the old dragon bloodlines. The problem being most of the dragonblood bloodlines were also of royal descent. More than a few
royals had been murdered over the years under the false pretense that they were dragonblood. The Brotherhood would kill all royals if they had their choice. The Brotherhood being seen in the kingdom was even more alarming than that stupid Lord Lamar’s making it an open tournament. He would have to research the Brotherhood immediately.
“Dragons?” asked Talon, “I thought they were killed off.”
“They were,” replied Lord Horne, “Don’t worry about dragons, they are a myth. The Brotherhood on the other hand is very real and very dangerous. We will have to take extra precautions from now on. Do not travel alone anymore.”
Talon looked at his father with skepticism. “The Sacred Blood Brotherhood are back?”
“Yes, do not doubt the danger they pose to us. The Brotherhood started the original dragon wars and killed as many royals as they could find regardless of whether they were truly dragonblood or not. When the Dragons were killed off here, the Brotherhood hunted them down. They still have temples in Partha and other lands. They are zealots and will consider us the enemy. If they believe dragons are returning, they will likely start killing royals again in their quest to wipe out the dragonblood bloodlines.”
“Do you believe any of the dragonblood still live?”
“I do, and I would hate to be them. The Sacred Blood Brotherhood will capture, torture, and kill anyone they find with the dragon mark. Then they will torture them some more before desecrating their bodies. Thank all the merciful gods, our family doesn’t have those traits.”
“But if dragons returned, it would be interesting to be dragonblood. The powers they would gain,” said Talon.
“Dragons aren’t coming back,” snarled Lord Horne.
Talon wasn’t sure what bothered his father more, the idea that dragons might return, or the idea that they might return and he wouldn’t have the power to control them. Either way, dragons were not a subject he would bring up in front of his father again. The old tyrant was turning purple just talking about the mythical creatures. “As you say, Father.”
Lyric's Curse (Dragonblood Sagas Book 1) Page 13
