Blood, Honor and Dreams
The Elder Blood Chronicles – Book Two
by Melissa Myers
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011, 2012, 2013 Melissa Myers
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved, except as permitted by U.S. Copyrights Act of 1976.
No part of this publication can be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author.
Prologue
Gaelyn
The taste of copper filled her mouth, harsh and metallic. Her eyes trailed down to the remains of the woman cooling before her. Her stomach growled at the sight of so much meat but she fought back the instinct to feed. She had scanned the woman’s mind while in the womb and no matter how broken the woman had been, she had loved the child growing inside her. In her scattered mind, the woman had believed her a child formed of love with a man named Hawk. The dead woman had even picked names for the child inside her, Emily if it was a girl and Jonathan if a boy. The woman had refused to believe a monster grew inside her. In her mind, she had pictured a pink, squirming little baby.
She shifted uncomfortably at the thought. She didn’t want to consider herself a monster, and yet she was no baby as the woman had imagined. Just the few shreds of meat she had consumed had helped her grow considerably. By human standards her body was the size of one of their toddlers. Her mind, however, was far advanced beyond that. She knew what the woman had known. She had spent long hours in that broken mind, sorting through the knowledge. Reaching hesitantly, she ran a finger across the dead woman’s cheek, brushing back the strands of brown hair that hung over her empty eyes. Her talon scored a narrow groove in the dead flesh and she hastily pulled her small hand back. She hadn’t meant to kill the woman any more than she had meant to damage the dead flesh with her talon. It had been pure instinct that demanded she tear herself free of the prison of flesh.
Settling back on her heels, she stared down at the corpse, unsure what to do. She knew the others watched her. She could feel their eyes on her back. They wondered why she didn’t feed. If she didn’t feed soon, it was possible they would claim the meat. It was also possible they would consider her defective. Moving slowly, she edged to the other side of the corpse and placed her back against the thick stone wall. The others shifted, watching her, their eyes glimmering like dark jewels in the faint light of the room. With hunger and disgust warring inside her, she reached a taloned hand down to the corpse and cut a strip of flesh from the arm. Gingerly, she took the first bite, chewing slowly and trying to think of it as only meat and not as the dead woman that had considered herself mother.
With each strip of meat she ate, she felt her body pushing against its current size. Muscles developed, bones grew, and senses became more acute. Closing her eyes, she cut strip after strip from the corpse, relishing in the taste of the blood and hating herself for enjoying it. It took all of her will to keep the predatory instincts down. She could feel the growl deep in her chest. The gaze of the others upon her hadn’t lessened and her primal side told her to warn them away. If they came closer, she would defend herself by talon and fang as needed. It wasn’t a fight she would win, there were seven of them in the room. Not all of them would walk away, though. She would ensure that.
By the time her hunger was sated, she was red to the elbows in sticky, drying blood. Careful to keep her eyes from the once beautiful face of the dead woman, she moved down the wall and away from what remained. The others would feed on the remaining meat and she had no desire to see that. Never taking her gaze from the others, she followed the wall until it ended in a rough wooden door. With her back to the door she slipped out and into the dark hallway. She sniffed the air and then focused on the inner sense that linked her with her brethren to see how many lurked in the shadows beyond. There were more to the left than right.
Pushing the door shut behind her silently, she paced down the hall to the right. The dead woman had no knowledge of the layout of this place, only a name for it, Eldagar. By what the woman had known of Eldagar and her current surroundings, she guessed herself to be somewhere below the fortress in the labyrinth of storage rooms. With senses alert, she moved swiftly and quietly through turn after turn, always choosing the path with the fewest Blights.
She didn’t want to associate with the things. She may be one of them, but that didn’t mean she was happy about it. In the dead woman’s mind, pushed back to the furthest corners, there had been memories of the Blights and what they had done to the villages of Gaelyn. Farther back than that had been the memories of what they had done to Hawk, the man that should have been her father. To kill was a necessity for any predator. To torment and torture during the kill was corruption of the hunt. Torture was the only word to describe the way Hawk had died. With a frown, she focused on her surroundings and left the memories for when she was in a secure location. It wouldn’t take long for the Blights to realize she was not like them. What they did from there was beyond her field of guessing.
Her pace slowed as the air began to change. The thick dank smell of the undergrounds was fading. If there was a slant or rise to the floor she couldn’t tell, but the air seemed fresher. She was nearing the surface. The dead woman’s mind had contained memories of the surface, many memories. If she could make it to the wild lands her dead mother’s memories would guide her away from this place. She tested the air again before moving on. There was something there, a scent that seemed out of place in this hive. Cautiously, she moved forward silently. Something shifted in the halls beyond. The shadows themselves seemed to stir before her. It was a strange and yet familiar scent in the air - prey, human. It didn’t make sense for the smell of prey to be so near the main hive without the scent of fear or blood thick in it. She tested the air again, searching for any signs of blood. She froze again as a form moved from the shadows.
“Charm,” she whispered, as the dead woman’s memories identified the ragged blond man before her. His armor was filthy and torn and his long blond braid was matted with filth, but still she recognized him. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud and kicked herself silently for it. Clamping one small hand over her mouth she held her breath as the rogue scanned the room with a frantic gaze.
“Who’s there?” he whispered, his voice harsh with disuse. One slender hand had dropped to the pommel of his dagger and his muscles were tense. His gaze flickered to the window behind him and she could tell he was on the verge of flight.
Biting her tongue, she remained silent, watching him with curiosity. The dead woman had liked this man and he was heading for his death if he continued down this hall. All she would have to do is speak again and he would likely bolt. She could practically feel his paranoia. His eyes had a wild look in them, not fear exactly, but close. A tickle at the back of her senses pulled her focus from the rogue. She could feel a group of her fellow Blights approaching behind her. If they found him here, he was dead, and her mother had liked him.
“Run, they are coming,” she hissed in a voice barely above a whisper.
His reaction was immediate. He didn’t question where the words came from, he simply fled. He was out the window and moving rapidly through the shadows within a breath. Glancing back over her shoulder once more, she snarled and followed him through the window. The memories she had of the rogue were of a
good man, and a good man wouldn’t survive in a hell like Eldagar without help. She would watch him and guard him. Perhaps that would make amends to the dead woman. She hadn’t meant to kill her mother. Perhaps if she kept this man alive, mother’s spirit would rest easier.
Chapter 1
Sanctuary
The clash of steel came with a rapidity that gave it a sort of music. Jala shifted in the grass and rested her head more comfortably against Marrow’s side. The Bendazzi lay sprawled behind her, his sides rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep. She ran a hand gently through the soft white fur of his neck and continued to watch her husband. From her vantage she had a perfect view of the sparring match between Finn and Valor. Her eyes were locked on Finn, watching his every move. His bronzed skin was gleaming with sweat despite the chill of the day. She felt a smile creep onto her lips as she watched him. His graceful dodges were swiftly followed by a series of quick jabs that kept Valor on guard for most of the matches. Finn was living art in her mind, a beauty to behold, and he was hers. The smile grew wider. her hand absently traced the tattoo on her arm. It signified their marriage. Even from this distance, Finn’s matching tattoo stood out against his skin like a beacon. Her mind began to drift with thoughts of those arms wrapped around her, the remembered scent of him, and his breath hot on her neck. She longed to bury her fingers in his thick tawny hair as he kissed her. A flutter drifted through her and she felt her pulse increase slightly. A muffled curse from the sparring yard brought her sharply back to the present to watch as Finn stepped back from Valor with blood dripping down his bare chest.
“What was that?” Valor demanded, lowering his own blade. His long silver hair was plastered to his head with sweat and he was breathing quickly. He glowered at Finn, his blue eyes filled with irritation.
“Nothing,” Finn snapped, his gaze locked on the wound that stretched from his shoulder and traced a ragged line down his ribs. The sides of the wound were already mending together. Finn healed with such a speed that most of the time he didn’t even notice the smaller wounds. That one had to be deep to get him to step away from a fight.
“Bloody hell it was nothing, I know you could have parried that,” Valor pressed but Finn waved him off and moved in for another attack before Valor could protest further.
“Care to return your attention to studies before you get him killed?” Jail asked. He was sitting a few feet from Jala with a look of pure amusement on his face. A large book lay open in his lap, though he hadn’t looked at its pages at all from what Jala had seen. As usual, his dark hair was pulled back in a tail, revealing the tattoos that ran round the sides of his head. She often wondered what they symbolized but hadn’t found the proper moment to ask. Her friends cultures were so diverse she never knew what was improper to speak of and what wasn’t.
“Leave her alone, she is in love. I think it’s sweet,” Wisp cut in with a sigh. The Fae sprawled in the grass not far away, with a map spread in front of her. She had one elbow propping her off the ground with her dainty chin resting in the palm of her hand. A long tendril of black curls fell down over one side of her face, giving her a tousled look. “I’m seeing a lot we could do to improve things here, but I’m not sure how we can do it without anyone knowing who is doing it,” Wisp added, and Jala wasn’t sure if she was talking to her or to Neph who was propped up beside her looking half asleep.
“Wait, no, this has merit. If she gets him killed, the damn ringing of metal will surely stop,” Neph grumbled, and leaned forward to look at Wisp’s map.
“It will be replaced with wails of sorrow which is infinitely louder, Neph,” Jail pointed out mildly.
“True,” Neph agreed halfheartedly and turned his attention fully to the map. “It’s the Merro district, Wisp. Anything we do will be an improvement there. That’s one of the worst parts of the city.”
“It won’t be if we can just figure out how silently to repair it,” Wisp countered.
“I say we just announce who she is and bugger them all. This secrecy shit is getting old,” Neph grumbled, leaning back once more to rest his weight on his arms. Of all her friends, Neph was easily the most intimidating. Jail was larger and more heavily muscled and Finn had a quick temper, but Neph had mastered the art of scowling to a fine perfection. That, combined with his dark leather armor and sharp tongue, made most stay clear of his path.
“It’s been two weeks since we agreed to keep the secret. Are you truly out of patience already?” Jail asked, shaking his head at Neph in what might have been disgust.
“You are losing her attention again. I can see her gaze drifting back to pretty boy,” Neph motioned toward Jala and she blushed.
“Sorry,” Jala mumbled and sat up, rubbing her face. Marrow shifted behind her and stretched. “It’s just …, I’m sorry, I don’t know what exactly it is. I’m just having trouble concentrating,” she gave Jail a weak smile and shrugged.
“You are in love, that’s what it is. Everything else is secondary as it should be,” Wisp chirped happily and beamed a smile at Jala. The bright gleam in Wisp’s green eyes drew an answering smile from Jala. Wisp was always in a good mood. It was impossible not to feel better when the Fae was around.
“A goofy smile most of the time, difficulty focusing, (which I might add you already had a terrible time with), and daydreaming. Yes, you are most definitely afflicted,” Neph said in a tone that suggested he thought it might be contagious. Jala watched him, half expecting him to scoot farther away from her.
“Love is not an affliction,” Wisp snapped and kicked Neph lightly.
With a loud clearing of his throat, Jail once again captured her attention and she grinned at him. “Please ask again. I promise I will pay attention. I am fully focused now,” Jala said with a bit of chagrin.
“Who in Sanctuary holds the most power? I mean the world, not the city,” Jail repeated and leaned back, giving her time to think.
Crossing her legs under her, Jala folded her hands in her lap and considered the question. It was a loaded question, she knew. There were so many ways to answer it. Since they had returned to the city two weeks ago, these sessions had become a routine in the mornings. On every free day, Jail would sit and help her catch up on her classes and ask her random questions and she was beginning to figure out how to best answer him. It wasn’t one simple answer Jail was looking for. He wanted her to consider the question more than anything else.
“It’s the goblins. Little do we know they are about to take over the world,” Neph said dryly.
“And you shall be the king of them,” Wisp rose and bowed mockingly in Neph’s direction. “Hail, the Goblin King,” she called loudly as she dropped back to her prone position in the grass.
“You mock now. Just wait, little girl,” Neph warned with a smirk.
Jala tried to fight back a smile and forced herself to ignore their banter. With a deep sigh, she locked her gaze with Jail’s. “I want to say the High Houses, but that’s too obvious and it’s the cheap answer that anyone would give. You aren’t looking for the common answer here. You are looking for my answer.”
With a slight nod, Jail motioned for her to continue. “And your answer is?”
“My answer is that it changes too quickly to judge accurately. It isn’t simply the houses that hold power in Sanctuary. The mercenaries hold power, the Fionaveir hold a sort of power, and the merchants hold power. It shifts by the hour depending on countless things. Something as simple as a rumor can shift power in Sanctuary.” She paused, frowning, and gave another shrug. “If I absolutely had to say one thing that holds power above all others all the time, I’ll say the commons. They outnumber us and they provide our food. While they are not strong magically, without them we would suffer,” she said finally, not even pausing for a breath as she spoke.
Jail seemed to consider her words and gave her a weak shrug. “We can make food with magic, though it does have side effects if eaten too long. And while they do outnumber us, most High Lords could kil
l an entire country with little effort. The only thing that stops them is the fear of other High Lords taking advantage of their temporary weakness from using that sort of power,” He countered.
“True, and that is what gives the commons power. If we had to do everything they do with our magic we would all be drained and at risk,” she replied with as much confidence as she could muster. In truth she was beginning to doubt her own theory.
“Well, considering how bloody many commons there are, most of the food they supply, they eat. In Delvay, we don’t have many commons. They are generally too weak to survive in the mountains,” Neph added.
“I would say personally it’s the Aspects,” Wisp said looking up from her map.
“The Aspects have power with the commons, but when it comes to the High Houses they are just another challenge. Most High Lords don’t spare them a second thought. They are here for the commons,” Jail objected mildly.
“It’s me. I have the most power in all of Sanctuary. Tremble before me,”
Jala looked up sharply to see Finn grinning down at her. She hadn’t noticed the swords had stopped ringing or even heard him approach. Smiling up at him she shook her head. “I have to disagree,” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“Well then, you will be the first that I smite,” Finn returned and dropped into the grass beside her. Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss and then sat back, wiping sweat from his face. “You don’t want me too close right now, I don’t think. Ode to swordplay isn’t a pleasant smell,”
“I don’t mind,” she replied, leaning over against him. Grinning up at him, she rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled strongly of sweat and the oil he used on his swords, but it was comforting to her. Both were smells that she had grown used to in her time with Finn.
The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 2 Blood Honor and Dreams Page 1
