Blood Keep

by Wend Petzler

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

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  BLOOD KEEP

  By

  WEND PETZLER

  © copyright by Wend Petzler, Feb 2007

  Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, Feb 2007

  ISBN 978-1-60394-103-7

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Northumberland, April 1334

  "How the hell do we get past that?” Adjusting his helm, painted in the detail of a red dragon's head, Nicolas Drago cast a disgusted glare at the stone monstrosity looming before him.

  Well over thirty feet high, the protective wall stretched for miles, surrounding the land hidden on the other side. It effectively barred him from reaching the most feared English castle known as Blood Keep.

  The gusting wind howled, sending his banner of the Red Dragon flapping violently about. Blue-white lightening snaked across the angry sky. Thunder crackled, rumbling ominously. His gaze rose to the forty archers who held their long, Welsh bows ready to unleash a deadly rain of arrows upon him and his men. The crimson-colored stallion he rode snorted and shifted nervously beneath him. Thunder became louder, more uniformed. The ground shook from another brutal force of nature—warhorses!

  The looming wooden gate, wrought with iron, crashed to the ground, unleashing the feared Black Knights. The clattering of iron shod hooves and rattling metal grew deafening. The impressive, black armored knights rode in pairs, carrying black lances fastened with sharp, silvery tips. In precise formation, they split to form a line to the left and right. When the last man moved into position, one hundred knights raised their lances at the same time, creating a black forest before Nicolas and his far smaller troop of thirty.

  Silence.

  Nicolas gritted his teeth, determined to fulfill his duty. He urged his stallion forward only to draw back the reins when he heard the clatter of more hooves coming. Two riders exited the downed gate. One wore an older styled silver armor and rode a horse of striking white. The other was a Viking with long, silver-laced flaxen hair and beard, clad in a thick, leather jerkin with his huge battle ax resting on his immense shoulder and rode a blue roan. A fair distance away from him they drew their excited horses to a halt and waited when a third rider burst forth. The newcomer rode a gleaming, black stallion who snorted clouds of white steam from flaring, red nostrils, coming to a rearing halt beside them. Short, steel bat wings extended from the sides of the frightening black helm the rider wore. A long, black horsetail, extended from the back. The visor was fashioned with angular slits for the dark knight to see out while allowing none to see the monster within.

  The Demon Lord!

  Menacing in appearance, the Demon's shoulders were made broader by the added width of steel-encased leather guards molded to the black-enameled chain mail. A wool cloak of midnight was hooked to the chained loops. Strapped to the dark rider's back was the infamous sword the Demon used to deliver death to Edward's enemies.

  None to Nicolas’ knowledge had ever laid eyes on the mysterious man under the hideous helm, not the many who had fallen under the Demon Lord's sword or his allies. Nicolas seriously doubted even Edward had viewed the dangerous man's hidden features. The Demon Lord had attained terrifying fame when he and his invincible Black Army joined the campaign in Southern Scotland, savagely turning the war in Edward's favor. Though the Demon had never entered the tournaments, his ferocious reputation upon the battlefield was undeniable.

  Swearing under his breath, Nicolas needed to calm the growing out of control situation. He and the Demon Lord were sworn to protect the English Crown. He would not fight a man to whom he owed his life! The barbarian gestured at him and then the knight nodded before riding out to meet Nicolas. Coming to a halt beside him, the knight lifted his visor, exposing a grizzled man sporting a pointed, elegant gray beard.

  "Sir Nicolas, why do you come to Blood Keep in force?"

  Good, Nicolas thought with satisfaction, a direct man. “My apologies, Sir Knight, we do not come to fight but rather to bring Lady Isabella a letter from King Edward.” Distrust was clearly evident upon the old warrior's face.

  "Why did not the king just send it by courier?"

  Nicolas glanced over at the Demon Lord, watching the dark knight. The stallion he rode pawed the ground impatiently. A soothing hand upon the sleek neck calmed the magnificent animal. “King Edward is very concerned about Lady Isabella. He ordered me to personally deliver his letter and make sure all is well at Blood Keep."

  "My lord, I am Sir Brandon, Captain of Blood Keep. Why does Edward believe something is wrong here at Blood Keep?"

  Instead of answering, Nicolas retrieved the rolled parchment from his saddlebag. “I am ordered to meet with Lady Isabella inside Blood Keep and ensure she understands the contents of Edward's letter."

  Sir Brandon faced him sharply, startled by his words. “I must speak to Lord Demon.” Wheeling his mount around, he galloped back to the awaiting pair.

  Nicolas watched the trio carefully, observing their heated argument. The wary men glanced at him suspiciously, agreeing with obvious reluctance to whatever the Demon Lord had said. Resigned, the men backed their horses, clearing the way. The fearsome knight urged the magnificent warhorse forward. The heavy, black cloak spread behind the Demon like great wings. Clutching the leather reins tighter, Nicolas sat back in his saddle, consternation rolling in his gut, gritting his teeth as the frightening apparition charged straight for him. His men shifted uncomfortably. They, too, wondered what the Demon Lord intended for their commander.

  Skidding to a halt several feet from him, the powerful warhorse tossed his noble head and pawed the ground, snorting with excitement. The Demon placed the black leather reins down. His gauntlets, tops re-enforced with overlapping steel, moved upwards to remove his helm. Nicolas swallowed hard as wild rumors of the hideous and deformed Demon Lord swirled in his mind. The truth floored him!

  Long, honey-brown hair with blonde streaks cascaded downward. Heavily fringed, black lashes hooded eyes the color of emeralds which frostily assessed his reaction. Shadows under her almond-shaped eyes darkened the jeweled depths. A woman? The Demon Lord was a woman? Cold shock washed over Nicolas. Astonished, he grew uncomfortable by the crackling air of authority surrounding her. Her pale features were ethereal, not beautiful
but more ... otherworldly. Her softly squared jaw clenched, barely suppressing her irritation as she waited for him to get his fill of looking at her. Arrogant, her straight nose lifted at him, disdain in her cold, hard eyes. When she spoke, her voice was as rich as brandy, rippling with power, causing Nicolas to feel as if he had been punched in the stomach.

  "Why does Edward command you to enter Blood Keep?” The woman demanded, her horse shifting nervously under her.

  "You are the Demon Lord?” Nicolas demanded, unbelieving a woman accomplished the many victories the Demon had leading the Black Army.

  Her eyes darkened ominously. “I am Lady Isabella. The Demon Lord has left my services and thought it wise if I maintained the illusion he still guided my knights if we were attacked. Since you pose no threat,” she sneered, “I felt it safe to take off my helm. You carry a message from my cousin?” she asked, pointing at the rolled parchment in his hand.

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her response, bristling at her rudeness. “Forgive my impertinence, but why would the Demon Lord leave his armor and horse to you, a mere woman? No self respecting knight parts with his prized possessions."

  A snarl curved her soft, pink lips and the stallion she rode reared, screaming a throaty challenge. She quickly settled her horse and snapped, “Knight, take a good look at my horse, take a longer look at my armor. Might I remind you that you fought beside my dark avenger and know him well? To protect me and my castle, he commissioned my armor to resemble his, and as to my horse, he is son to Satan, the Demon Lord's warhorse."

  It was then he took a really good look at the horse and his rider. The warhorse's legs and body were more refined than the infamous Satan the Demon had rode hard into battle. Taking a long look at the woman, he noted the Demon's chain mail differed and suddenly had become slimmer and not at all like the black knight whom he had fought beside in the bid for Scotland. At a distance the ruse worked, having convinced him he faced the Demon Lord. Why would the Demon go to such drastic measures to have the Baroness of Blood Keep don armor and pretend to be him? Had someone really attempted to harm her? What he could see of her, Lady Isabella appeared to be quite sound of body to be wearing chain mail. Honor bound to get to the truth of what had happened in the last week at Blood Keep, Nicolas knew he must put the hostile female at ease.

  Inclining his helmed head in acceptance of her explanation, Nicolas tried to unruffle her feathers, hoping to calm the riled, young woman. “My sincerest apologies, my lady. I meant no offense. As to your earlier question, King Edward's explicit instructions were for me to give you his letter once I was inside Blood Keep. I was not to take no for an answer.” Trying his best to appear pleasant, Nicolas won instead a disgusted look from her.

  Brandon rode up beside her. “My lady, the storm is nearly upon us. We must conduct our meeting inside the Keep.” He glanced worriedly at the angry, purple, rolling clouds above.

  Appearing frustrated, for she had no other choice but to allow him and his force inside Blood Keep, she tossed her helm to Brandon, glaring at Nicolas all the while. Her next words riled him at the same time sending relief there would be no battle today.

  "Follow me but make no sudden movement or my men will slaughter you,” she warned, her gaze lifted pointedly to the silent archers above.

  The black stallion wheeled about on his heel and was gone before Nicolas could question the woman's motives. He had no choice but to follow. His friend and servant, Ahmed, frowned at their unusual situation. The Arab's dark eyes narrowed and he rode close beside him, just in case of an ambush. Nicolas shifted in his saddle, ensuring his men in were order as they followed him. They nervously watched the ready bowmen above. As Nicolas and his troops rode over the lowered gate, the formidable Black Knights closed rank, effectively cutting off any exit. The dark tunnel through the massive wall appeared deep, causing the hair on Nicolas’ neck to stand on end.

  Rumors, spoken in hushed tones, had spread about the cause of Lady Isabella's widowhood thirty days after her marriage to Lord Mordred some five years ago. Tales were whispered of the young baroness murdering her husband in cold blood. The more romantic gossipers were convinced the great knight had died of a broken heart when he saw the ghost of his beautiful, first wife who perished moments after delivering her stillborn babe into the world.

  Lord Mordred's legendary feats upon the battlefield and in the lists were of a truly honorable knight of the English Realm. Famous for his golden hair, silver armor, and magnificent white steed, Mordred was what all knights strove to be and had been Nicolas’ hero since childhood. Shadowed by mystery and intrigue, his death had caused many a wild tale, all forcibly squashed by King Edward. The king declared Mordred's death due to natural causes and was quite satisfied in allowing Lady Isabella to rule Blood Keep. The decision, however, did not sit well with Mordred's younger brother, Lord Alden.

  By rights of blood, Alden should have inherited the demesne, Nicolas thought, relieved the darkness gave way to light, seeing the end of the tunnel.

  Lady Isabella rode twenty feet ahead of him and Ahmed. She glanced back at him several times, her resentment of him made quite clear by her glare. The Viking whispered something to her. Nicolas watched her soft lips flatten in disapproval. Her dark, shapely eyebrows gathered in an ominous frown. Angry at whatever the Viking had said, she whipped back around to face forward and urged her horse into a fast canter. Urging his own to a faster gait, eager to exit the tunnel, Nicolas received another surprise.

  Vast, well tended fields, green with spring crops, bordered the road, sweeping until it met the flanking forest. The wide river Tweed wandered sluggishly through the heart of Blood Keep's lands. They rode over a wide road of cobblestones, a reminder the castle was originally a fortress built by the Romans. With the many border wars, Blood Keep had changed hands several times over. Reluctant, his astonished gaze lifted to the dark, foreboding castle rising above the fields, a fearsome protector. Blood Keep's grim starkness gave him a bloodcurdling chill to his very soul. Nicolas dreaded the thought of spending one night in the nightmarish castle. As if he had insulted the powers above, the gloomy clouds let loose a vengeful barrage of rain upon them.

  Riding up the short hill leading to the main gate, Nicolas cast a wary eye toward the high ramparts encircling Blood Keep. The castle had to be the most fearsome pile of masonry and wood he had ever set eyes upon. The main keep rose menacingly above four, square-shaped corner towers. The blocks of stone used were dark, giving the fortress a sinister appearance. The downed portcullis, fashioned by thick, iron spikes, rose slowly, loudly creaking. More archers stood above, bows ready, arrows aimed at the newcomers who waited in front of the barbican. Far from amused, Nicolas did not like the recent turn of events, not one bit!

  Isabella smiled despite the rotten turn of events. Blood Keep spread its warm arms wide, embracing her chilled heart. Why had Edward sent Drago of all people to her castle? Distracted when the portcullis was up, Isabella urged her horse forward, riding under the massive archway. Not really understanding why, Isabella glanced back at Drago. Many thought her home haunted and evil, a rumor cultivated to make the Border Scots fear Blood Keep. Perhaps Drago will fear Blood Keep, too, and flee as so many others had in the past. One can only hope, she thought with a small smile.

  A crowd of servants and soldiers gathered, warily greeting the newcomers. The Black Knights continued on to an enormous building set a good distance from the castle. Squires took their lances, assisting the silent knights. Drago turned and to her surprise, he grinned and respectfully inclined his helmed head in approval of her home. Haughtily tossing her head back, the action sent her long hair cascading over her left shoulder. His approval meant naught to her! Swinging off her horse, her booted feet hit the ground hard. Isabella gasped, agony whipped up her back, exploding into fiery pain. Desperate to hide it, she prayed Drago had not heard her momentary bout of weakness. Otto, her faithful barbarian, had heard. Rushing to her aid, he used his bulk to shield her from
their unexpected guests.

  Brandon stepped in, transferring Drago's attention onto him. “My lord, please allow Sir George to show your men to the former stables where they can settle their horses in for the night. Accommodations shall be arranged for you and your knights’ comfort."

  "Thank you, Sir Brandon. Leo, take my horse and follow Sir George.” Drago swung off his warhorse, handing the reins over to a scarred-faced knight.

  Isabella squared her shoulders, determined to ignore her pain and Drago's unwelcome presence. Speaking to the concerned, young man holding her horse's reins, she said, “Miles, make sure Lucifer gets a good rub down. He's earned it.” Affectionately slapping the stallion's bulging neck, Isabella swung around in time to smash her face right into Drago's silver-armored chest, not realizing Otto had moved.

  Instinctively, Nicolas grabbed the reeling woman, preventing her from falling backward. Holding her, he was surprised that her tawny head barely reached his shoulder. On a warhorse, the woman appeared Amazon-like. Preferring tall women, Nicolas came to the quick conclusion Lady Isabella's spirit more than made up for her lack of height. An enticing scent teased his senses, causing Nicolas to stare down at her in confusion.

  Roses.

  The faint, sweet scent had haunted him since his near demise over a year ago on a battlefield of blood and gore. Distracted when Lady Isabella jerked away from him, Nicolas watched her hurry up the steep, stone steps leading to the Keep's main doors. Ahmed gained his attention, pointing at Isabella's saddle. Blood. Nicolas’ brow gathered in confusion. Staring at the wet, red smear on the curved seat, then at his gauntlets, he knew it came from her cloak where he held her.

  "Master, I feel something terrible has occurred here. We are welcomed and yet, we are watched closely.” Ahmed's eyes rose to the ramparts where the archers remained on guard.

  "I agree.” Warning bells resounded in Nicolas’ head. “Something indeed is wrong here,” he stated, alert for danger.