The Shadow Enforcer: The Shadow Enforcer Series Book One

by N M Thorn

  The Shadow Enforcer

  The Shadow Enforcer Series: Book One

  N. M. Thorn

  The Shadow Enforcer

  By N.M. Thorn

  Copyright © 2021 by N.M. Thorn. All rights reserved.

  nmthornauthor@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Cover art design by www.originalbookcoverdesigns.com

  Edited by Spirit Editorial

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Teaser: The Burns Fire

  Dear Reader

  Before you go…

  Also by N. M. Thorn

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Thirty kilometers south of Kyiv, Kievan Rus.

  August 6th, 996 A.D.

  Like a swarm of locusts, Pechenegs’ horde invaded the land, killing people, burning towns and villages, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake. It wasn’t the first time Pechenegs’ tribes invaded Kievan Rus, but never had they been able to win a battle against the mighty Vladimir’s army.

  Never, until now...

  Dark smoke curled over Dnepr, its dirty swirls obscuring the stars and the moon. The red flares of fires illuminated the horizon with their sinister glow, and the ancient river rolled blood-colored waves along its shores. Kievan Rus was burning, the smoldering flames devouring everything in their way like hungry beasts.

  Just thirty kilometers south of Kyiv, a small group of Vladimir’s warriors were fighting against the overwhelming forces of Pechenegs’ horde. Pushed back to the side of the river, they stood no chance, and every man knew it. Yet they didn’t lower their weapons and give in but stood their ground at the cost of their lives.

  The Pechenegs’ battle cry rose in the air, carried by the night breeze. The moans of the wounded and dying, the clang of metal on metal, the neighing of horses and screams of people turned into a raging storm of sounds, overwhelming in its ferocity. A sickening reek of blood and the stench of sweat and human excrement were overpowering as it was, but in combination with the acrid smell of smoke, it made the air nearly unbreathable.

  The fear and desperation were almost palpable, and the expressions on people’s faces reflected the hopelessness of the situation. Thrusting his sword forward, Dmitri ran it through the throat of the man attacking him. As he pulled the blade out, bright red blood spurted from the wound. He didn’t wait and raised his sword again, parrying a giant battle ax of another foe.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his younger brother fighting by his side. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, a soft smile was playing on his lips, and his blue eyes were lit up with wild excitement. Nikolai was fighting in his usual fast and aggressive manner, swinging his sword as if the word exhaustion didn’t exist in his lexicon. He was drenched in sweat and blood from head to toe, and Dmitri could only hope that none of that blood was his.

  The boy has no fear, he thought as he glanced at his little brother with affection shadowed by a never ceasing concern. Since their mother had passed away, Dmitri had taken on the role of a parent, taking care of his little brother, making sure they both survived long enough to see adulthood. Being too fast and too fearless for his own good, Nikolai didn’t make it easy on him, always running toward danger as if he were invincible.

  Noticing a Pecheneg approaching his brother from the other side, Dmitri quickly changed his position, deflecting a powerful strike from the enemies’ sword a second before it would’ve sliced Nikolai’s shoulder. His younger brother flashed him a quick smile, but suddenly his eyes widened, and his lips parted, fear distorting his blood-splattered face.

  “Dima,” Nikolai roared, using his childhood nickname, raising his deep voice over the ruckus of the battle. He pointed with his sword to the left and then ran in the same direction without waiting for Dmitri to follow.

  “Nikolai! Kolya!” shouted Dmitri warningly, his heart beating heavily in his throat. But when the young man didn’t stop, Dmitri cursed colorfully and followed his brother, jumping over the dead bodies of his enemies as well as his comrades, deflecting attacks and destroying any Pecheneg that was unfortunate enough to get in his way.

  Soon, he saw what had alerted his brother, planting the seeds of fear in his dauntless heart. On the opposite side of the battlefield, Prince Vladimir, blocked from all directions, was facing a group of Pechenegs. Outnumbered, he fought valiantly, crashing his sword down on his enemies from the height of his tall horse. One of the attackers threw a spear, and it flew through the air, piercing the horse’s chest. Nikolai halted and cried out as if the weapon ran through his own heart. Ignoring everything else, he doubled his speed, making his way toward the Prince, fighting for his every step.

  Time slowed down as the stallion neighed, rearing on its hind legs, and then started to fall. The Prince stayed in the saddle, his sword still in his hand. The horse collapsed, falling on top of Vladimir’s leg. The Prince cried out in pain and struggled to free himself from the weight of the animal, but to no avail. There weren’t many of Vladimir’s warriors still standing, and once they saw their Prince fall, they halted for a brief moment and started to retreat, pushed back as their enemies doubled their efforts, motivated by their victory.

  By the time the first Pecheneg approached the Prince of Kievan Rus, Nikolai’s sword met his curved blade. Throwing the attacker back, the young man spun around, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

  Not as fast as his brother, when Dmitri reached them, they were surrounded by a large group of Pechenegs who were trying to get their hands on the Prince. Nikolai was fighting them tooth and nail, but Dmitri knew—it was only a matter of time before his brother would fall, and he couldn’t allow that.

  As anger fueled by fear spiked his adrenaline, he attacked silently and forcefully as he’d never fought before, quickly making his way to his brother. Just as he broke the tight circle of his adversaries, he saw his brother struggling to defend the Prince.

  “Watch out!” Vladimir cried out as he was finally able to break free, but neither the Prince nor Dmitri was fast enough.

  A curved blade pierced Nikolai’s side, going through his armor and chainmail as if it were nothing more than paper. Like in a terrible nightmare, Dmitri watched his brother fall to his knee, his left hand clasping the horrid, bleeding gash on his side, dark blood spilling between his trembling finger
s.

  “Kolya! No!” A terrible howl filled with despair beyond any limits erupted from Dmitri’s lips. He swung his sword, crashing it down onto anyone who tried to stop him without looking. The ground trembled beneath his feet, but he barely registered it.

  “Dima, get Prince Vladimir out of here!” Nikolai yelled as Dmitri approached him. With visible effort, he got up to his feet, his sword in his hand. “I’ll try to get you a few minutes...” He looked around, a feverish glimmer in his eyes.

  “Nikolai, no...” Dmitri observed the battlefield. No more than ten of Vladimir’s warriors still stood with the Prince, fighting forcefully to give Vladimir a chance for survival. “You’re wounded. You will—”

  Nikolai laughed, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, coloring his white teeth a shade of scarlet. “Then I’ll see you in Hell, brat moi.”

  “Brother mine...” exhaled Dmitri, echoing his brother’s words. For a brief moment, he squeezed Nikolai in a tight embrace, his heart bleeding with despair. “If not here then in Nav, but I’ll find you. I’ll go to Peklo if I have to. May the mighty Perun give you strength.”

  Dmitry bent down and helped Vladimir to his feet, throwing his arm around his shoulders. Nikolai smiled and made the sign of the cross, blessing both his brother and his Prince.

  “May God be with you,” he said, his hand squeezing the grip of his sword. “Both of you.” Without saying another word, Nikolai turned around and cut into the approaching forces of their adversaries.

  Dmitry barely realized what he was doing as he started to fight his way toward the bridge. Vladimir was helping as much as he could, but all Dmitri could think about was his brother. As they reached the Vasilevskiy bridge, Dmitry looked around. The battle was over, and the Pechenegs were quickly closing the distance, heading toward them.

  “Too late,” whispered Vladimir, his eyes wide but not with fear. Regret reflected on his face as he glanced in the direction of the great city of Kyiv.

  “No,” growled Dmitri, pushing the Prince under the bridge. “My brother didn’t give up his life to see you captured by these monsters. Go under the bridge and hide. I will hold them down.”

  “I’m indebted to you and your brother,” said Vladimir, disappearing under the bridge. “I will never forget...”

  Dmitri turned around and for a moment shorter than a heartbeat, he saw the lines of Pechenegs part. Even though he was far away, he could see his brother clearly. Nikolai lay on the ground, a tall man pinning him down with his arms. As the man leaned down, Nikolai didn’t move and didn’t react.

  He’s dead... The debilitating thought lingered in Dmitri’s mind as he raised his sword to his shoulder, getting ready for his last fight.

  Like a dark, disgusting wave, the enemies rushed toward him, their barking battle cries rising toward the sky. This was it. In his mind, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from this place alive, but he didn’t care. Grief and fury the likes of which he’d never experienced before overwhelmed him. A powerful wave of heat rushed through him, originating in his feet, and a sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes, making them burn and water.

  The earth trembled beneath him, and a deep fracture split the ground, separating him from his enemies. He looked over his shoulder, wishing with all his heart that there were more bushes and tall grass to conceal the area beneath the bridge. Just as he thought this, the earth shook again, and limber branches and roots broke through the ground.

  In front of his eyes, they grew taller and thicker, reaching high and spreading wide. A curtain of green leaves and sharp thorns covered the newly developed shrubbery until the entire area under the bridge was completely veiled.

  He laughed mirthlessly, not recognizing his voice in this terrifying, hollow sound. But as he turned around, a spear whistled through the air, piercing his heart. His fingers unlocked, and he dropped his sword. For a split second, he just stood there, his hand grasping at the spear protruding from his chest. As he collapsed to his knees, he felt absolutely nothing—no pain, no fear, no regret. It was over... He was done... No more fighting, struggling, suffering...

  “Nikolai,” he whispered, his eyes searching the battlefield soaked with blood and covered with dead bodies. For a moment, he thought he saw his brother lying sprawled on the ground, but he couldn’t be sure. “I’ll find you... no matter where you are... brother mine...”

  The world spun around him as he fell, hitting the ground with his back. As the darkness wrapped its arms around him, welcoming him into its deadly embrace, he exhaled for the last time and let go.

  Chapter 1

  ~ Damian Blake ~

  The rain hadn’t stopped since he left Florida, following him all the way through the not-so-sunshiny state, then into Louisiana and finally into Texas. Now, it was beating heavily on the metal roof of a tiny diner located somewhere off highway ten just outside Houston. The steady drumming of the falling water mixed in with the monotonous chatter of a few visitors created a peaceful, relaxed atmosphere. The heavy odor of fried food and beer wafted through the room, adding to the already slow and sleepy surroundings.

  Damian propped his elbows on the counter, rested his face in his hands and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and dryness. A gentle touch to his shoulder made him flinch and pull back. A young waitress stood in front of him, behind the bar. She smiled and placed a plate with a piece of apple pie before him.

  “I didn’t order—,” he started, but she shook her head, interrupting him.

  “Thank you,” she said with a slight Texan drawl, moving the plate closer to him. She tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear and added, “For repairing that darn garbage disposal, that is. It’s been broken for ages, making all those funny noises, but John is all hat, no cattle.” She threw a defiant glance at a young man in a cook’s attire, but he just smiled sheepishly and raised his arms.

  “No problem, ma’am.” Damian lowered his eyes, his hand rising to readjust his hair automatically. He raked his fingers through the longer strands on the front, covering the left side of his face where an old scar cut through his eyebrow down to the middle of his cheek and then shrugged. “But I’ll take the pie. Thank you.” He thought a moment and added, “And the bill, please.”

  She moved her hand to her pocket but then changed her mind. “On the house.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked away, disappearing behind the door into the kitchen.

  Damian smirked, thinking about asking her for directions to the nearest motel but then changed his mind. It was only five in the evening, and he hoped to hitch a ride to the next town before nightfall. He finished his pie quickly and got up, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and placed it under his empty plate.

  Glancing outside the window, Damian cursed under his breath at the never-ending rain and grabbed his backpack from the floor. As he approached the door, he pulled out his half-broken umbrella from the side pocket of his backpack and was ready to walk out when the waitress called him. He turned around and looked at her with curiosity, not sure what to expect. Standing a foot away, she gazed up at him, craning her neck as if he were the Empire State Building. Then she cleared her throat and smiled shyly.

  “Forgive me for asking... but how far are you traveling, sir?” she asked, fidgeting with a large black umbrella in her hand.

  “Phoenix,” he replied, wondering what this was all about.

  “On foot?” The arches of her dark brows rose slightly.

  “I hope not.” He chuckled. “That would be an awfully long trip.”

  She nodded, and a shy smile graced her pleasantly round face again. “Well, anyway,” she continued, offering him the umbrella. “I saw you arriving here on foot, and with this nasty weather, I thought you could use a better one. Yours is good for nothing.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head slightly. He took the umbrella and threw his in the garbage can.

  She smiled one more time and waved good
bye before heading back into the kitchen.

  Damian walked out of the parking lot, taking a street leading back toward highway ten. The rain almost stopped, but the net of small droplets hung in the air, amplifying the cool freshness of the evening air. Since the sky was overcast by low, gray clouds, he didn’t doubt that the reprieve was temporary and hoped to find a ride before the next wave of a downpour would start.

  The small street was empty, and for a while, he kept walking in complete silence, deep in thought. So, when he heard the sound of a horn, he flinched and spun around. A twelve-foot rental truck passed him and came to a stop a few yards ahead of him, pulling slightly to the side of the road. The passenger door opened, and an unfamiliar man in his sixties with a thick mop of graying hair stuck his head out and waved to him.

  “Hey, son!” he yelled, his voice deep and raspy. “I heard you’re looking for a ride to Phoenix?”

  Damian froze for a moment, but as realization dawned on him, his lips quirked up at the corners, and he sped up toward the truck, switching to a light jog. The man gestured for him to get in and scooted back to the driver’s seat. Damian threw his umbrella and his backpack on the floor of the truck, climbed inside and shut the door with a loud bang.