The Blade Heir (Book 1)

by Daniel Adorno

  "My loyal Draknoir, the time has come to rebuild the empire Scipio created for our kind," Memnon said, reopening the last cut on his palm with the dagger. He walked to the onyx table and slammed his bloody palm on the map over the region of Joppa. "Our time is now! We will forge a new alliance with the dragons, and by Nergoth's blood, I shall summon Kraegyn from the Abode into Azuleah again!"

  "By Nergoth's blood!" his Draknoir underlings all screamed in unison, stabbing their chests with their claws.

  Lord Memnon lifted his hand and licked the warm blood from his palm, smiling delightfully. "Tonight we march to meet the dragons. Make provisions for our journey and amass a great host of Draknoir. We have a campaign to finish."

  The soft breeze and warm rays of sunshine entered the open window of the room where Silas slept, waking him from the disturbing images of Draknoir and clashing swords haunting his dreams. He felt a slight stiffness in his shoulder and his head ached terribly, but the pain was the last thing on his mind. He did not know whose bed he lay on or where in Azuleah he might be. He threw the bedsheets aside and struggled to stand on his feet. A stinging sensation emanated from his shoulder and caused him to grab the bedpost to steady himself. He noticed the bandages around the wound for the first time and he gently removed them, curious to see the condition of the wound. The swelling had reduced considerably and the color of the wound had turned light pink, no longer a disgusting dark purple hue. The sight of the wound reminded him of the last few days in the wilderness with Violet, which were a haze of pain and weariness in his mind. Soreness and minor aches plagued various parts of his body—probably unhealed bruises from his wild ride in the river. Nevertheless, his present condition felt immensely better than before. Death would have surely taken him if he spent one more day on that blasted horse. Violet had kept her promise to restore him, and he owed her a great debt for her kindness. Now if he only knew her whereabouts.

  Silas searched the small room for any of his armor, but only found the mud-stained undershirt he wore beneath his chain mail and breastplate. He slipped on the shirt and stepped out of the bedroom into a central room where two benches sat beside a smoldering hearth. A tall elf with silver hair sat with his legs crossed on one of the benches. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be meditating. Silas could not remember the last time he had seen an elf, perhaps when he first visited Sylvania with his mother and sister many years past. He walked up slowly to the elf, unsure whether he was a friend or foe.

  "I see that you have healed considerably since last night," the elf said placidly, his eyes still shut.

  "Yes, most of my wounds have healed. But I do not know where I am," Silas responded "or who you are."

  "You are in a cottage near the Burning Woods in Sylvania, the home of Naomi and Violet." The elf opened his eyes. "My name is Siegfried Silverhart, and I have journeyed here from the city of Evingrad."

  "From the Breninmaur?" Silas asked.

  "Yes, have you traveled there?" Siegfried asked, tilting his head to the side.

  "No, but my father ventured there long ago," Silas replied.

  Siegfried's eyes narrowed slightly. "I noticed your armor is a different design than the Aldronian standard. Are you a commander or something of the like?"

  "Something of the like," Silas answered, unsure whether or not to reveal his royal position. "I am a member of the Drachengarde of Aldron. My company was slaughtered by a horde of Draknoir in the forests of Ithileo."

  "A dragon slayer ... not what I expected at all. There has not been an attack from a dragon for over ten years. Why has the King decided to resurrect a forgotten order like the Drachengarde?"

  "Forgotten? No man in Joppa has forgotten what the sword of the first dragon slayer did for our kingdom," he said in a louder voice than he intended. "The dragons still live in their hellish mountains, and they must be killed before the Draknoir seek them out."

  Siegfried pressed a thumb to his lips. "Yes, I see your reasoning. Perhaps you would be of great use to us."

  Silas arched an eyebrow. "All right. Where am I? Where's Violet? I need to speak with her, and I need my belongings. I had a sword and armor; where is it?"

  "Calm yourself, my friend," Siegfried said, rising from the bench. "Violet has gone with my brother, Lucius, to hunt some wild rabbits for the noon meal—I'm sure you are quite starved. And as for your belongings, they are out back in the blacksmith's forge. Naomi is sharpening your sword and repairing any damage to your armor."

  He hunched his shoulders and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry. I'm not accustomed to such kindness from strangers."

  "It is quite all right. We are here to help you," Siegfried walked up to him and put a hand on his uninjured shoulder. "Now I only ask that you trust us. There is crucial information I must impart to you in hopes you might help us on an important errand."

  "I'm not sure how I can be of much help."

  "Believe me, there is much you can do to help our plight."

  FOURTEEN

  Friends and allies

  Lucius sat at the dining table next to Siegfried in Naomi's kitchen across from Cutter, speaking for hours in the morning about their separate adventures in Azuleah. Naomi prepared venison stew for them in the kitchen, chopping celery and carrots while Violet sliced the meat and heated the broth in the hearth. The delicious aroma filled the cottage and roused Lucius' appetite. He couldn't recall the last time he had venison, but the smell made his mouth water. He tried hard to stay focused on the conversation between Siegfried and Cutter. They became well-acquainted with the Aldronian warrior in the past day, despite his hesitance to discuss his mission or the resurgence of the Drachengarde. But after Siegfried revealed their own intentions to forge the Requiem Sword, Cutter's demeanor changed. He listened to them intently and seemed genuinely interested in knowing more about their plans. Siegfried had left out one minor detail in his disclosure with the veteran swordsman; he hadn't spoken a word about Lucius' lineage as an heir to the Aldronian throne. Siegfried only said the holy blade of Joppa needed to be restored for the sake of the kingdom. Cutter said nothing for a while after the elf finished speaking. He hunched his shoulders and stroked his beard thoughtfully before he finally spoke.

  "If it must be done, then let it be Yéwa's will."

  "The sword is our only hope in defeating Kraegyn, if he should rise from the ashes," Siegfried said.

  "He will rise if Lord Memnon is not stopped or the host dragon killed," Cutter said, resting his elbows on the table.

  "The host dragon?" Lucius asked.

  Cutter turned to face him; his eyes looked tired and somewhat forlorn. "Memnon is a necromancer just like his ancestor Scipio. He has the power to resurrect any of his minions that have fallen on the battlefield. But their lost spirits need a body to inhabit when he returns them from the Abode of Shadows. He often uses the carcasses as the host, creating an undead abomination more vile than the Draknoir themselves. But the same cannot be done with regard to the Black Dragon—there is no dead body to possess."

  "It is believed that Memnon will use a dragon of equal size and stature as Kraegyn to hold the fiend's wayward spirit. The host's spirit will fade from this world into the Abode of Shadows and Kraegyn will be resurrected into a new body, which will likely change to his former, grotesque appearance before he was slain by Cervantes."

  "Was your order remade for this very reason? To thwart Memnon's plan to use a dragon host?" Siegfried crossed his arms.

  "Yes. Five years after the last dragon attack in Joppa, the King restored the order that defeated the dragons in Cervantes' day—the Drachengarde. We have studied the same tactics our forefathers used decades ago to defeat the mighty beasts, but we have not had the chance to prove ourselves in combat," Cutter said as he stared down at the bruises on his arms. "My men never had the opportunity."

  "I see," Siegfried said, casting a quick glance at Lucius. "Is there anyone left in your order who has fought a dragon?"

  Cutter sighed. "No, the dragons
have been quiet for years. No man has fought them since the old days. I have trained for years, and yet, I do not know how I'd fare against a dragon alone."

  "I suppose we will soon find out, Cutter," Violet interrupted, placing a hot bowl of stew in front of him. "But I think we should not worry about it just yet. The forging of the Requiem Sword should be our main concern, as well as avoiding detection from our enemies."

  Naomi stepped up to the table, holding two bowls of the stew which she placed by Lucius and Siegfried. "Violet, I don't think our guest wants to get involved with our mission. I'm sure he would rather be back in Aldron to report the tragedy in Ithileo."

  "To be honest, I'm not eager to return to Aldron bearing ill tidings," Cutter replied, placing a spoonful of stew in his mouth. "I must report to the king, of course, but perhaps there is something I could do to help—at least, as recompense for all of your hospitality."

  "I told you no repayment was necessary," Violet said with a lopsided grin.

  Lucius noticed a quick smirk from Cutter directed at Violet.

  "Well, repayment or not, Violet and Naomi are heading to Joppa to find a necessary component of the sword, perhaps you could escort them there?" Lucius suggested.

  "I can't speak for Violet, but I would be delighted to have a trained soldier escort us to Aldron," Naomi smiled at Cutter and Lucius grimaced.

  "I would be honored to escort you both. Women should not travel alone on the Barren Road; there are too many evil folk about. But I'm curious, where are you two headed?" Cutter exchanged glances with Lucius and Siegfried.

  "Our quest will take us inside the Burning Woods and beyond Jun-Jun Pass to the Grey Swamps," Siegfried replied, dipping his spoon into the hot stew.

  "Be careful, friends. I've heard terrible tales of that enchanted wood, and the Grey Swamps can be perilous as well."

  "We can handle ourselves, Cutter," Lucius said, pushing his shoulders back. "We've come this far, and a mystical forest won't deter us."

  Siegfried raised an eyebrow at him, but Lucius just cleared his throat and smirked.

  "What do you think the King's response to the Draknoir ambush will be?" Violet asked, changing the subject.

  "I'm not sure, but at any rate we must retaliate. Memnon has slaughtered too many men and escaped too many times unscathed. Perhaps it’s time our armies marched through the Black Gorge and attacked Nasgothar."

  "Nasgothar is teeming with Draknoir and all manner of dark beasts. It would be unwise to lead so many men to such an ill fate," Siegfried said, placing his spoon on the table.

  "You may be right, but something must be done. The Draknoir have proven to be more of a threat to Joppa than the dragons, and I am tired of losing family and friends to them!" Cutter slammed his fist onto the table. Everyone stopped eating, awkwardly silent and watching Cutter nervously.

  Cutter ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "I ... I'm sorry. This war has strained me for so long. I've known nothing more than fighting and I long for it to end. Yéwa has abandoned us these past few years."

  Lucius wanted to say something to console the man, but he couldn't think of any comforting words. He also felt abandoned by Yéwa. He thought back to the red scroll and Yesu's death, a violent end to a humble man with no aid from a God who claimed to be present at all times.

  "Do not worry, friend; I believe this war will soon near its end," Siegfried said. "We can have a decisive advantage over the Draknoir with the blade of Cervantes—a weapon blessed by Yéwa. Evil cannot prevail forever; eventually good overcomes all."

  The elf stood up from his seat and looked at each of them solemnly. "Let us go now and speed the hammer's fall on Nasgothar and Ghadarya."

  The gates of Gilead Palace closed tightly shut with a resounding boom as Captain Baron Stendahl walked up the marble stairs to enter the great hall of the king. On his way he passed statuesque guards and gossiping courtiers, who instantly recognized him by his red, short hair and the high rank he bore on his armor—a golden chain looped around his shoulder. Some of the slightly inebriated loiterers in the king's hall tried to approach him, but he merely glared at them when they neared him or called his name. After climbing up another short flight of stairs, he stepped into an arched hallway with Aldronian standards hanging on either side and walked up to the double doors that led into the King's throne room. He announced his name and rank to the two guards on each side of the iron doors, and they quickly grabbed the ring-shaped handles to pull the doors open.

  Once inside, Baron glanced at the large blue and white standard hung above the throne, which depicted an image of a falcon in flight at its center. His Majesty's standard filled him with hope, even in these dark days, and he occasionally pictured himself as a falcon flying far above Joppa, far from the present troubles they faced. Fading sunlight seeped in from the windows cut into the stone walls illuminating the room in a golden aura. Baron marched down the red velvet carpet to the white throne where King Alfryd Dermont sat with his head bowed and eyes closed. Baron slowed his pace as he neared the foot of the throne. He heard unintelligible whispers coming from the king's mouth and realized his Majesty was praying to Yéwa.

  After a few seconds, the King opened his dull blue eyes and looked up at him. Lines covered the man's face along with silver tresses dangling from beneath his gilded crown. A prominent nose and wide jaw gave him the physical appearance of nobility characteristic of the Dermont line. He wore a green velvet overcoat with fur sewn on the collar and at the ends of his sleeves. A dark blue tunic sewn in the finest linen and by the best tailors of Joppa adorned his body beneath the robe. But for all the guise of royalty Baron recognized in King Dermont, he also saw a distressed man hunched over on his throne, weakened by old age and a decades-long war with the Draknoir.

  "My lord," Baron said, kneeling before him, "there is news from our scouts on the fringes of the Ithileo forest."

  The King's face brightened for a moment. "Tell me, Baron, what has occurred?"

  "The mutilated bodies of three thousand soldiers from Aldron's army have been discovered in the forest along with dead Draknoir who also fell in the battle," Baron said with a strained voice.

  Dermont stood up from his throne, placing a hand on his forehead. "So many dead ... what of the Drachengarde?"

  "The bodies of the Slayers were found a few feet from the forest, your Highness. Asher Bowen is dead, along with the rest of his company ... save for one."

  The King turned to face him with an eagerness in his eyes. "Who?"

  "Captain Silas, my lord. His body was not found among the others."

  King Dermont sighed with relief. He walked over to the western window of the throne room, placing his hands on the stone sill. "Can a search be arranged for him?"

  "Sir, I do believe it would be best now to mobilize your—"

  "Can it be done or not, Baron?"

  Baron swallowed hard. "Yes, it can, my lord. But what hope do we have that the Prince still lives? Ithileo and the Dulan are swarming with Draknoir; our scouts barely escaped alive."

  "You must always hope, Baron. In my old age, hope is all that a man has left." King Alfryd turned to face him. "Mobilize our soldiers to ride for Ithileo and send advance scouts to the lands surrounding the Dulan. We must act swiftly to find Silas and clear Ithileo of Draknoir."

  "By your command, your Majesty." Baron bowed his head and turned on his heel toward the doors.

  "Baron," Dermont called.

  "Yes, my lord?" he spun around to face him.

  "You are my most trusted advisor and friend; I would entrust this errand to no one else but you," King Alfryd said as he slowly walked up to him. "Please find Silas. Please find my son, Baron."

  "I will do everything in my power to find the Prince, my lord. You have my word."

  King Alfryd nodded, but said nothing. Baron bowed again and walked out of the throne room. As the door closed, he felt his heart beat faster as he grew anxious about the imminent battle in Ithileo. He had led numerou
s battles in the past and killed countless Draknoir, but this felt different. He needed to recover Prince Silas, wherever he might be, and he feared what the outcome might be. The Prince could be lying wounded somewhere in the wilderness or captured by the enemy, or even dead. Baron dismissed the grim possibility and tried to stay hopeful. He could neither bear the thought of another Dermont dead nor deliver such ill news to his Sovereign. The grief would be insurmountable for King Alfryd and all of Aldron. Baron needed to find the Prince, and he needed to be alive. He must be alive.

  FIFTEEN

  Dark Alliance

  Numerous ranks of the Draknoir host marched through the inhospitable marshland of the Black Gorge where the fortress of Nasgothar loomed as a large spire piercing the landscape. The darkening twilight sky led many of the feral warriors to light torches as they continued on their long walk to Lake Ein. Behind the marching horde of Draknoir, Lord Memnon and General Genghis rode on the backs of their Onyx lizards. The large, four-legged lizards dwell in the caves of the Onyx Mountains where Draknoir trappers capture them and train them for war. Their long, spiked tails and talons are well-suited for combat, and they have an insatiable appetite for human flesh, which greatly pleased Memnon. The lizards' tongues flicked in and out of their mouths incessantly as they searched the terrain for rodents to devour. The lizard Memnon rode, known as Redjaw, wore a bronze helmet with a long metal horn between his eyes. Silver hooks pierced into folds of skin on Redjaw's nape where leather reins were tied through loops on the hooks. Black markings adorned the green scales of the Onyx lizard's forelegs, commemorating its victories and kills on the battlefield. Redjaw had a reputation for ruthlessness in battle. He often used his jaws to snap the necks of the enemy's horses and gored Aldronian soldiers with his horn. Memnon could hardly wait to use the lizard in the approaching battle with Aldron and indulge their mutual bloodlust.