Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption

by Kade Derricks

  A dozen torchbearers worked their way around the arena, lighting the glowing lanterns favored by the wood elves. Soon, a bluish light bathed the dueling grounds. As was the custom, the crowd rose when the royal family entered and claimed their front-row box midway between the opposing corners. None, with the exception of Sera, had been present on the tournament’s second day.

  What had that meant? Something serious, surely, and also not my concern, Dain scolded himself. He couldn’t afford any distractions now. There was work to be done. One more win and he could be free of this business forever. He closed his eyes, imagining what that freedom might look like.

  Officially King Teldrain and his family could choose no side tonight, but Jin rebelled, breaking ranks and cheering Dain loudly when she spotted him. Dain snapped her a tight military salute that she returned enthusiastically. Sera sat in his corner with her potions. She wore a simple red dress and her shining black hair piled atop her head. Dozens of silver pins, bright like the evening’s starlight, held it in place, and long silver earrings dangled near her slender neck, touching her bare shoulders. He walked toward her. She was always lovely, always breathtaking, but tonight she was beyond all words.

  “I know I say it too often, but you look beautiful,” Dain said. He could hear the nervousness in his own words. His tongue fumbled over them.

  A mischievous look danced in Sera’s eyes, but she did not respond.

  “Any last words of advice?”

  “Yes, in fact. Tarol asked me to pass something along. Siam placed a large bet on the match.”

  “I didn’t realize he knew Siam. I thought he was Jace’s friend.”

  “Tarol serves under his command in the frontier guards.”

  “And how much did he bet on Cleeger to wipe the floor with me?”

  “He bet two hundred gold pieces on you to win.” Sera smiled.

  “Two hundred? Siam’s going to be disappointed. I have no idea how to knock out a bear,” Dain said. Sera laughed softly and reached out to smooth down the edge of his collar.

  She seemed different today—more relaxed, freer with her movements and her smiles, more like she had in those early days. It was as if some great, oppressive weight had been lifted from her. Before he could ask what had changed, one of the tournament officials, a mage assigned with protecting the crowd, interrupted them.

  “A word, human?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Dain replied, stepping to the side to face the elf.

  “I have given each of Cleeger’s opponents a word of warning. The spell wrappings on him are not effective. His abilities simply overwhelm them. There is nothing we can do to stem his power.”

  “What do you mean? Are you saying that they don’t work on him at all?”

  “I’m saying that Cleeger is so powerful that even though they limit his strength, he is still more than capable of mortally wounding you.” With a curt nod the mage departed and left Sera and Dain standing side-by-side in their corner.

  “Are you alright?” Dain asked her. She turned to him.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You seem…different. Happier. You haven’t been like this since, well, since I can’t quite remember when.”

  Sera smiled again and surprised him by taking his hands in hers. “Mother told me some good news, Dain. I’ve been worried about something—something fragile and wonderful—for so long. But now…I will tell you about it, all about it, later. I promise,” she finished, squeezing his hands once and then dropping them.

  Dain continued to look at her, perplexed by her words. When it became clear to him that she would speak no more of it, he nodded and turned toward the arena again.

  “So, how do I beat him?” Dain asked.

  “This will help you,” Sera said, drawing a vial from a small bag at her waist. “I have saved it for last. It will enhance your spell strength. All your paladin abilities will be more powerful. You may even be able to overwhelm your own wrappings.”

  The liquid was the color of an orange with small, reflective flakes suspended in it. Of those he had taken, it smelled the worst by far. Removing the cork turned his stomach. Dain hesitated.

  “Go on, unless you don’t believe you’ll need it,” Sera said, arching an eyebrow.

  He downed the strange mixture then glanced over at Cleeger, who was drinking his own potion, thick and black. Dain sighed, tipped the little vial up, and licked the last few foul drops from the glass. He would need every advantage he could get tonight.

  He turned, ready to march toward his starting position, when Sera reached out and grabbed his hand once more. She pulled him back to face her and wrapped a hand up and around the top of his neck. Her fingers grasped his hair. She rose up on tiptoes and kissed him. Dain’s mind stuttered to a stop and his senses blazed alight. He tasted the strawberries they’d had for breakfast on her smooth lips, and he could smell the lavender soap she used to cleanse her face every morning. He placed his hands around her narrow waist and leaned down to draw her closer. The crowd, the match, Cleeger, all melted around them. Only her lips against his and the silky slip of the fabric beneath his hands existed. He had never felt so alive.

  Too soon, she drew back from him. Her eyes sparkled in the delicate blue light from the lanterns and a content smile lit her face from within.

  “For luck,” she whispered. She turned then and walked to his corner.

  Her kiss hit Dain harder than any opponent could ever hope to. His blood boiled and his knees felt weak, and he barely managed to find his way to the starting position. He shook his head like a dog emerging from water, trying to order his thoughts in time to properly salute Cleeger before the match began. Despite the physical disorientation, he felt in that moment like he could crush a thousand Cleegers if given the chance. For luck, indeed, he thought with a smile as he glanced back toward where Sera stood before refocusing all his attention on his opponent.

  Cleeger didn’t resemble most of his kindred elves. Where they wore their hair long, the shapeshifter had his shaved clean down to the scalp. His green eyes were sunk a bit back into his skull, and they looked out from beneath fierce, red eyebrows. Most elves were thinly built and lean, but Cleeger’s chest and arms were thick. Although Dain was fit, the elf would outweigh him by at least twenty pounds. Dark runic tattoos, rare among elves, ran up both his bare arms from thick wrists to corded shoulders. The shapeshifter smiled confidently, flexing as he faced Dain.

  When the match began, Dain didn’t bother rushing the elf to try and catch him in his current form. He had no desire to be caught off balance running headlong into a massive bear. That much he had learned from his earlier match with the boar. Instead, he drew on the Light, strengthening himself for the fight ahead.

  Cleeger tipped his head slightly, grinning in acknowledgment, as he had clearly been hoping for the rush. The elf then raised both arms and swung them around in a few slow circles, warming his joints, then cast his shapechange spell and shifted into an enormous black bear. He loosed an earth-shaking roar and tore great clumps of sod free from the ground with paws the size of a warrior’s shield. Foot-long ivory teeth lined his powerful jaws. On all fours, he stood taller than a horse and must have outweighed one by almost double.

  The mage’s words came back to Dain. The spell wrappings on him are not effective. His abilities simply overwhelm them.

  The beast began by bounding across the arena toward Dain. He covered the gap in an instant and Dain rolled left and forward, dodging under a paw swipe. He sprang out of the roll and whipped a hard backhand with the sword, making contact with Cleeger’s rear leg.

  The shapeshifter spun, far faster than anticipated, snapping his open jaws. He missed Dain’s face by scant inches.

  Dain took a step back and sliced down on the bear’s nose with the tomahawk, following up by slashing at Cleeger’s snout with his longsword. The bear howled in pain and frustration, backing off slightly. A long flap of loose skin dangled from his charcoal nose. In a true fight the swor
d would have cut down to the bone, but the protective spell wrappings didn’t allow that here.

  While he had landed three hits, none had caused any serious damage, Dain knew, and Cleeger only needed to wrap him in those huge arms once to end this fight. He needed to either land harder, crippling blows, or one heavy and precise blow on the elf’s head. He was unsure if the wrappings on his weapons would allow either.

  Switching to offense, he sprang forward and slashed at the bear’s nose again. Cleeger reached up reflexively, protecting his face, and Dain drove a hard thrust into the shapeshifter’s front paw. His sword stalled at first but then, when he leaned in with greater force, penetrated the bear’s calloused pad. The animal roared in rage. Dain retreated back, out of range.

  Angry and hurt, Cleeger charged yet again, sweeping wide with both arms. Dain rolled hard to the right, ducked under an arm, and swung the tomahawk furiously at the bear’s exposed rear hamstring. This time, the blow connected solidly. Dain smiled a bit, satisfied at seeing a narrow stream of blood seep from the wound.

  Cleeger recovered quickly and changed his tactics. Instead of lunging at Dain, he approached slowly and swung a short slash with his huge front claws. The shapeshifter continued his advance, alternating his swings.

  Dain gave ground and backed away from the danger, but soon realized the elf was herding him back into a corner where his size would be an even greater advantage. He needed to break free, but there were precious few options to escape. Timing a swipe, he tried slipping around behind Cleeger, and was almost taken by the bear’s snapping jaws. Dain continued to yield while trying to ward off the sick, sinking feeling that his chance for victory was sliding away. Finally, he stepped back and felt the arena’s outer wall brush against his left foot. No more space remained.

  From the corners of his eyes, Dain saw the crowd rise to their feet. They understood his position and sensed the danger. They expected this battle to end quickly now.

  The bear stopped advancing, and Dain imagined the confident elf gloating behind his shapeshifted form. In this form Cleeger couldn’t manage a smile, but there was a knowing look in his eyes.

  Sera had promised the flask would boost his spell strength. Time to put it to the test. His stomach gave a swoop as he remembered the feeling of her lips against his. Instead of focusing his protective spells, he poured all the Light he could muster into charging the tomahawk. The weapon glowed brightly, humming and crackling with energy. He felt the power vibrating through the steel weapon’s handle and held it low, hidden behind his leg, to keep Cleeger from seeing it.

  Unwilling to let Cleeger strike first, Dain charged the beast. He whipped his sword up toward the shapeshifter’s face. The blade took the stunned bear just above his right eye and Cleeger recoiled sharply. Dain stepped close, close enough to smell the beast’s hot breath, and slammed the tomahawk into his exposed chest.

  A brilliant arc of crackling white Light exploded outward and the ground shook with the roar of a thunderclap. Dust and soil and gravel showered outward and rained on the arena’s lowest levels.

  Cleeger flew back across the arena. He came down in a rough heap of fur and teeth, rolling end-over-end three times before finally skidding to a stop. Those long, black, shining claws gouged deep grooves in the arena’s hard-packed dirt.

  Dain’s ears rang and his vision took a moment to clear. He watched Cleeger struggle to pull himself upright. He hoped the fight was over now. How anyone could survive, much less attempt to continue, after taking a blow like that he couldn’t imagine.

  But, after several failed attempts, the elf managed to get up on all fours. He stood shakily. Instead of approaching, Cleeger waited where he had risen.

  The tournament rules were clear. A win must be by submission or knockout. Dain approached his opponent hesitantly, wondering if the bear was truly as injured as he appeared. He inched closer, and then closer still.

  His answer came with a powerful swing from one deadly paw. Although it missed, he felt the wind of it as the huge paw passed by. Cleeger followed up with a half-lunge, trying to wrap him up in both arms. Dain managed to avoid most of the danger by stepping backward, but felt white-hot pain flash across his left leg, just above the knee, as one claw dug deep. Despite the spell wrappings, blood quickly soaked through his pants.

  Fortunately, Cleeger was too injured himself to press the attack further. He collapsed, sprawled out and facedown in the mud, but remained conscious. Dain could see the great bear’s chest rising and falling.

  Dain limped away from the shapeshifter, putting himself well out of reach. His leg throbbed painfully. He knew that if he wanted to win he had to end the fight quickly, before blood loss slowed his reactions and made him an easy target, or worse, before he passed out completely. He tore a strip of material off his tunic, wrapped it over the open wound, and tied it off with a square knot.

  He had to finish this now. All Cleeger had to do was wait for him to collapse or weaken. He charged only the longsword this time, and even then managed far less than the tomahawk had held. He hobbled toward the waiting bear.

  The sword was glowing and ready, held upraised for a strike when Cleeger surprised him again with a vicious slap. Dain half-expected it and jerked back, but this time it was he who flew across the arena. The paladin landed with a heavy thud, driving into the arena’s outer wall then slumping down against it.

  Dain fought to remain awake. His vision swam and spun dizzily. His head rang and his ears buzzed. He tried to raise his head, except his neck refused to obey.

  Where was he? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember what he was doing, either. Thousands of elves surrounded him in a stadium of some kind. They stood motionless as statues, staring down at him in lofty silence. There…on the lowest level…one moved. A young girl with streaked hair stood, and though her mouth moved, he couldn’t hear her. As he stared at her, his ears began to clear. She was cheering. Cheering for him? Asking him, begging him, to rise.

  Closer by, a beautiful dark-haired elf stared at him. She wore the reddest dress he’d ever seen and her eyes blazed fiercely in her fine-boned face. Her fists were clenching the material of the dress so tight her knuckles were white. She, too, urged him to rise. He willed his head to turn for a better look at her. Even that small movement took a great deal of effort. When she saw him move, she screamed a name. Dain. His name.

  Everything rushed back to him with sickening intensity. Sera, Jin, the fight, all of it crashed in upon him like a mighty wave. He had to rise. He had to rise, to finish this, to win.

  Dain gained his footing and saw Cleeger limping toward him. The bear’s left eye was swollen shut, his face masked in blood, drool, and sweat. One leg dragged behind him and another appeared badly injured, but each slow, painful step brought him closer.

  Dain had lost his grip on both weapons, and he scanned the arena frantically for either to meet Cleeger with. The shapeshifter closed the distance between them to just a few feet before Dain spotted his sword lying mere inches from the beast’s wounded front leg. He dove for it, ignoring the searing pain in his own bleeding leg. Scooping the weapon up then rolling over once, he brought the blade up in time to block Cleeger’s eager jaws from snapping closed around him. The sharp point drove into the roof of the bear’s mouth and Cleeger jerked back in pained surprise. Still on his knees, Dain used the small opening and feebly Light-charged the weapon once more, then swung it into the shapeshifter’s head with all his might, just above his eyes.

  There was no burst of Light this time. Dain hadn’t had enough time or strength to draw much into the sword at all. Cleeger collapsed all the same.

  Dain crawled aside and narrowly avoided being buried under the giant bear’s bulk.

  The paladin sprawled on his back, panting in the dirt, holding his sword high for the roaring crowd. He waved the blade once in a proud circle, then heard footsteps and saw Sera rushing toward him.

  She was smiling.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN


  As was his habit, Verdant went out to lounge on the hospital’s front porch after he finished his rounds to watch the sun’s dying rays cast slender shadows over Galena. He lay back, reclining in a comfortable chair, and reflected idly on the prior week’s events. Steam drifted up from his clay mug.

  Early in the week, he had approached Drogan Baylest with his suspicions about the golden elves. Verdant thought the Lucky Seven’s owner would be the most reasonable and the most likely to take him seriously. The other mines would not act, or even care. It wasn’t in their interests. They just wanted to get the deal with the golden elves done, wanted to get their riches out.

  Drogan, though, hadn’t liked the deal. In the end he’d supported it, but Verdant knew it grated on the miner to give so much of his hard-earned gold away.

  His faith in the Lucky Seven’s owner had been rewarded. Drogan acted quickly and decisively, assigning a pair of guards to watch over the army’s injured survivor. He then reached out to the other mines to see who else might be willing to listen.

  Instead of leaving the survivor among the hospital’s other patients, Verdant took the added precaution of moving him into his own office. Shyla and Tessa, under his orders, checked in on him at half-hour intervals. Each of the two priestesses knew a few spells to detect or even attack an intruder, and Verdant himself took to sleeping in his office while Drogan’s guards patrolled outside.

  He hadn’t really thought about what he would do if an assassin came. Scream for help, he supposed. He had only limited experience with elves, and none with combat. He did not want to waste time worrying about circumstances he could not control, but he did not wish to underestimate their abilities, either.

  Enjoying the twilight, he wondered if he had overreacted. He considered asking Drogan to remove the guards. There had been no incident in the past week. Doubts crept into his thoughts. Were the Golden really involved in the convoy’s destruction, or had he just leapt to an irrational conclusion?