The Horsk Dragon (Swords of the Bloodline Book 1)

by A. R. Wilson

  THE HORSK DRAGON

  By A.R. Wilson

  Author’s Note: Glossary available at the back of book for reference

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  EPILOGUE

  GLOSSARY

  CHAPTER 1

  The shuffle of feet slipping past his bedroom door pricked at Jurren’s ears. Listening to the early morning silence would have to wait. His teenage daughter was as much an early riser as he, much to his wife’s chagrin, and he needed a few words with her.

  Slipping on a pair of boots, he glanced over to ensure his motions did not wake Heluska. He straightened his shirt and moved into the hall as the front door at the other end eased shut. A few quickened steps and he caught it.

  Tascana gasped on the other side. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hello, yourself.”

  Her wavy, auburn hair hung loose and unbrushed down her back. Those sweet, hazel eyes looked up at him. “Good morning.”

  “Tascana, this is the third day in a row.”

  “I love the morning air. You know that.”

  “And you promised to help your mother in the garden today.”

  “I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then where are you headed off to this time?”

  She picked at one of her fingers. “Just for a walk.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “Before noon, I promise.”

  “You know I’m leaving for Kovarilos in a few hours. Weren’t you going to at least say, ‘See you in a few days’?”

  “I did forget about that part.” She let go of her hands.

  The feeling of her arms timidly giving him what was probably an embrace broke his heart. Jurren sighed. Gone were the old days of getting down on one knee to look her in the eye and having her choke him with a bear hug. Now, she was distant, withdrawn. With each passing season of the last two years, she had retreated deeper into herself.

  Though he felt powerless to fix it, he chose to trust his gut instinct that repeatedly told him she was safe. That she needed these times alone. Learning to trust his gut was the most valuable lesson from his first mentor. How many times did that inner drive save his life? He had lost count. Second-guessing himself always turned into a waste of time. If she was safe then the next important thing was that she be a woman of her word.

  “If you say you’ll be home by noon then I trust you.”

  Even in the pre-dawn light, he saw the heat rising in her cheeks. “Okay.”

  “While I’m gone, I want you to stay close to home. We have a lot to do before I start my autumn hunting runs.”

  This time, she merely nodded. He put out his hand to ruffle her hair, but she was already turning toward the road. For a brief moment, he wondered if something darker than seclusion pulled her into these “walks” — something far more sinister than depression — but his gut instinct wouldn’t allow it. Like a hand gently pressing against his chest, assuring him to remain calm. Somehow, he just knew this was how it had to be.

  He turned his attention to the barn. The horses were ready for feed and fresh water, plus he still needed to get those white-cliff falcons in their cages for transport.

  Several chores later, the smells of Heluska cooking eggs and potatoes in the kitchen pulled him out of work-mode. He rubbed his forehead. The next several minutes were not going to be easy. As soon as he went to breakfast, Heluska would start in on him about Tascana’s wanderings. How could he explain his gut instinct to a mother fighting an instinct of her own? If he had words to explain why he believed everything was fine (words that would sway Heluska’s heart) he would carve them into the doorframe. Anything to keep the peace between the two women he loved so dearly.

  Inside the house, only two plates sat on the table. A sign Heluska knew Tascana was gone. Again.

  When Jurren walked in, Heluska turned and tried to smile. Her hair rested in a loose bun, and every movement of her head caused it to slip farther and farther onto her shoulders.

  “Good morning, Wife.”

  She smiled a little brighter, motioned toward the table, then sat down across from him.

  No list of worries? Jurren mentally breathed a sigh of relief. But halfway through his meal, he noticed Heluska staring at her plate.

  The moment their eyes met, she started. “Tascana is sixteen years old now and still has not shown so much as a hint of interest in any of the young men her age.”

  “She’s fine. Don’t worry so much.”

  “I’m a mother, it’s my job to worry. To anticipate the dangers facing our child.”

  Jurren closed his eyes so Heluska would not see them roll in frustration. “As far as I am concerned, I hope she never chases a boy.”

  “She needs to find a mate. It’s not natural for a girl to spend so much time alone. I wouldn’t worry so much if she spent her time with someone, but she claims she’s not seeing anyone. We don’t even know where she goes when she leaves.”

  “I talked to her this morning. She promises to be home by noon to help with the chores until I return.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then perhaps we’ll all end up talking about this again. Maybe it is time to start establishing some firmer rules. But going for walks alone is a fairly benign secret.”

  Heluska frowned at him and looked away.

  That did it. He had crossed the line. Jurren dropped his fork and rubbed his forehead. ‘Secret’, and any other word that suggested one, triggered Heluska’s lower lip to quiver while her upper lip pressed hard to counter the action.

  She allowed Jurren to keep his former life in the past. All of it. From the day he was born until the day he stumbled half-dead into her village, she let him stay shrouded in all the mystery he wanted. For that, he was grateful beyond any measure to express his appreciation. However, when it came to their daughter, secrets were a whole other matter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She waved her hand in a shooing motion. “I know, I know.”

  His eyes fell to the last few bites on his plate, then returned to his wife. How could he help her understand? “I promise it won’t always be like this. She’ll come around.”

  The worried mother smiled. Slightly. “She’s all I have when you’re gone. But at the same time, I’m still all alone.”

  Heluska’s voice trailed off. She bumped the table as she stood, snatched up both their plates, and thumped them in the wash basin. Her hands gripped the edge as her gaze shifted out the window and away from him.

  Jurren walked up behind Heluska and held her across her shoulders. He pushed his face past her thick curls to rest his cheek close to her ear. “Sorry, I guess she just has too much of her father in her.”

  “Thank you, my love, but that really doesn’t help.”

  He nodded and kissed the back of her head. “Who knows? Maybe by this time next year, she’ll be settled down, married, with a little one, and we’ll be reminiscing of the days when she was as carefree as she is now.”

  Heluska nodded. The shuffle of her arms beneath his embrace told him the dishes were of more comfort at the moment than he was. He went around the
corner to the place in the hall where he kept his travel pack and carried it nearer the front door.

  Heluska had returned to staring out the window. “Promise me you’ll hurry back as soon as you can.” She turned to look at him, her hands once again on the rim of the wash basin.

  “I promise, Wife. I promise. Five days and I’ll be home.”

  She walked toward him. They embraced a few moments longer than usual as he held her close against his heart. When the moment seemed right, he let go and gave her one last kiss. He slung on his pack, pushed the door open, and walked to the barn behind the house.

  Inside, Jurren gave the travel cages for his raptors a quick double-check. Everything looked good. The four white-cliff falcons screeched their protest at sitting in cages. A different shriek called from behind, and Jurren turned to see his pet falcon, Zemarick, waiting on his perch.

  “Yes, my friend, you are going with me. But first, you need to find your own breakfast.”

  He untied the tethers holding Zemarick to his post. A series of whistles instructed the bird to hunt and return to find him.

  Jurren tugged and hefted at his load until his travel pack and cages felt balanced. It was a good twenty-minute walk to Ellam’s house, and he didn’t want to stop along the way to readjust.

  With his arms and back loaded to capacity, he started out. He glanced back at the house. Heluska’s face pointed toward the road from inside the window. Hopefully, she would spend the morning busying herself with something productive, as she usually did when she was upset. A quality he loved about her. She had the rare ability to put her negative feelings to good use.

  After maneuvering through the front gate, he turned down the path to Ellam’s. To his left, less than a stone’s throw away, stood the southwestern border of Gaulden Forest. Those trees were beautifully terrifying when he first saw them. A species of tree capable of growing over three hundred feet tall and up to forty feet in diameter. One of those oddities he would want to see for himself even if they were no more than a tale from another land.

  The wood of the trees was bright red when cut. Blood red. When dried, it turned a dull, reddish brown, similar to the color of cooked meat.

  As the story went, giants offended the Fates, who cursed the poor creatures by transforming them into trees. Some believed the curse extended into the afterlife and their souls were never allowed to leave, hence the name ghostwood.

  Those stories never interested Jurren. How could anyone believe in Fates? Or in the ghosts of giants wandering through Gaulden Forest? Anything about that whole afterlife business needed to be based on something real. Something logical. Not creating a story plausible enough to scare a child into behaving. These giants were nothing more than trees. Very, very big trees that happened to grow nowhere else in all of the known lands. Being unique was not the same thing as being a living monument to a curse.

  As he rounded the last bend, Jurren pulled back from his thoughts. Two figures were working to hitch and load a wagon. Arkose, tall with a thick build and shaved head, pulled at straps to secure a pair of horses in front. The other, Ellam, heavy-set with a wad of brown hair pulled tight at the nape of his neck, tugged and pushed at a dozen barrels stacked two-high behind the driver’s seat. The horses twitched their ears as the men worked.

  Ellam tightened the last strap then looked down the road. Straightening, he waved at Jurren and gave a shout of greeting that sounded like, “It’s about time.” Arkose picked up a bundle of swords and placed them in a wooden box at the back of the wagon. A few minutes later, Jurren arrived and set the cages down toward the back wheel.

  “So, you’re really going to part with those?” Ellam asked.

  “Yeah, I’m ready.” Jurren shifted his travel pack to the ground next to the caged birds. “They’re a lot of work to keep happy, so I try to keep it down to less than ten mated pairs.”

  “What are you trading them for?” Arkose grunted out the last word as he pushed to secure the lid over the box.

  “I’m hoping I can talk old Kayleem out of one of his wagons. That fire back in the spring has crippled my hunting excursions.”

  Ellam laughed. “Are you saying my cart isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

  “The sooner I get my cart replaced, the sooner I will be relieved of your singing.”

  All three laughed. Arkose helped Jurren lift and fasten the two cages beside the barrels.

  “Where is Zemarick?” Ellam slung an extra bundle of rope into the rear.

  “He’ll be along.” Jurren hoisted himself up into the driver’s seat. “He’s out hunting a little something for himself.”

  Since Ellam mentioned it, Jurren scanned the sky. A small black line traced slow circles back toward his home. Looked like Zemarick was taking his time today.

  The three men set out in casual conversation with the usual talk of each other’s families and affairs. They traveled north, straight into Gaulden Forest, for almost a mile. At the road’s three-way split, Ellam tugged the reins, and the horses veered to the right.

  By midmorning, the conversation dulled into a comfortable silence. Jurren lapsed into thoughts of Tascana and Heluska. There had to be a way to keep them happy, both with each other and with him. Perhaps if he could…

  Oh, who was he kidding? This rope had swung back and forth in his mind for over a year and had yet to land anywhere soft. The time had come to cross the line he promised to keep when this whole thing started. Following his daughter like the prey he tracked was as unappealing as wondering if Tascana lied about her walks. But it was the only way. Tascana was too nimble for Heluska to follow herself, though not for lack of effort. If he did follow Tascana one morning without her knowing and proved to Heluska their daughter was safe, maybe this whole thing could settle down. And he might even get to finish his breakfast before his wife started the morning dishes.

  At the next crossroad, Ellam guided the horses to the left and urged them to trot at a quicker pace. The sudden increase in tempo smacked at Jurren’s senses. He straightened in his seat. Arkose pulled up a moment later, and their eyes met. The only thing out of place was Ellam’s composure. He clutched the reins. His flushed cheeks underscored his wide eyes darting back and forth among the ghostwoods.

  “What is it?” Jurren followed Ellam’s gaze.

  “I forgot to tell you both this morning—” Ellam licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “The sign at the fork in the road just reminded me. Though that sign is looking rather worn, and I think they need to replace it. They need to replace all these signs, really.”

  Ellam spoke faster with each word, as he often did when thinking of too many things at once.

  Jurren bumped an elbow into Ellam’s clenched fist. “Focus.”

  “Yes. Yes, sorry. Last night, I shared an ale with my wife at Windervail Inn. I overheard some folks talking about travelers being robbed in parts of Gaulden Forest.”

  Arkose shook his head. Jurren shrugged in agreement. Peace and prosperity had been the norm in Bondurant for centuries. Such things simply did not happen. These kinds of stories only came out of other parts of the world and in tales from long ago.

  “What do you mean by robbed?” Arkose asked.

  “Stealing possessions. Accosting people for their belongings!” Ellam jutted out his jaw.

  Arkose blanched at Ellam’s tone.

  Jurren put up a hand to pause the coming argument before it started. “Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. Someone reported a robbery to the Hess Bren council?”

  “No.” Ellam glanced over his shoulder. “Old Jaddik got in a fight with his brother. Seems they were supposed to swap a load of wheat for some crates of berries, but Jaddik came back into town empty. Claimed a group of teen boys pounced on him with a stick and took everything. And the most bizarre thing happened next! Four other people at the inn shook their heads and suddenly remembered being attacked too.”

  “How many youths were involved in the robbery?” Jurren propped an arm
on his knee as he leaned forward.

  “The ones that hurt Jaddik? At least eight. One man told a story claiming he saw fifteen of them.” Ellam took a deep breath, still scanning the ghostwoods.

  Arkose leaned forward a little to keep them all in sight. “When did all this happen?”

  “According to the people I talked to at Windervail, the first robbery happened almost six months ago. A group of young men showed up in the middle of the night, gave them a few good whacks, then ran off with their wagon and horses.”

  “How does something like that go unreported for so long? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No one could explain it. Folks were looking back and forth at each other like they were remembering it for the first time. I almost forgot to tell you! It’s like some kind of curse has fallen on this land. Like a spirit of forgetfulness trying to keep everyone ignorant.”

  Jurren scratched his chin. A breeze swept across his face. On any other day, it would feel ordinary, maybe even refreshing. But the details of Ellam’s story twisted it into a foreboding sign of uncertainty. The leaves above waved their warning, rustling in a language known only to trees, as they yielded to the arid messenger. A pair of robins spiraled around each other and ducked to the nearest branch as if they too sensed the omen.

  Oh, for the love! Since when did a breeze carry enough substance to justify fear?

  “If they’re out there, we’ll be ready for them. I can sit up top and watch the rear.” Jurren straightened in his seat.

  “Yeah… yeah, that’s a good idea… yeah.” Ellam panted his words as though he wasn’t sure whether it would make a difference.

  Arkose elbowed Ellam. “Jurren has the best eyes around, and I have steady hands if you need me to hold those.”

  Ellam looked down at the reins then laughed. “You would think after fifty-two years a man would learn how to leave his nightmares in his bed. The thieves only ever attack at night. We will be safe until then.”

  “I’m not taking any chances.” Jurren thrust his hand under a knot of rope and pulled himself up to the top of the wine barrels. “Anyone that brazen is someone I prefer to stay at least two steps ahead of. The ease of their thefts could embolden them beyond a simple beating.”