The Blade Heir (Book 1)

by Daniel Adorno

  Lucius looked at the small wooden box on the shelf beside him and pondered the significance of its contents. The mithas would be crucial to forging the Requiem Sword and defeating Kraegyn. The weight of his duty to rid Azuleah of such an evil burdened him, and his thoughts shifted to the red scroll and Yéwa. Doubts entered his mind again: could he trust Yéwa? What was his involvement in all of this? Could he slay Kraegyn as was prophesied? His thoughts spiraled into despair, and he could no longer hear Alistair speaking. Images of Kraegyn replayed in his mind from the nightmares he had experienced for weeks. He recalled every vivid detail from the blue fog to the Black Dragon's twisted smile. Not a single dream was without the same horrid imagery.

  When he felt as though the despair would overtake him, a faint memory entered his thoughts. Amid the terrifying images of Kraegyn, Lucius remembered another dream of a grand palace and an enormous light. A voice had spoken inside his head, and he heard it now as clearly as before. Lucius ... the time has not yet come for you to enter the door ... you must forge the Requiem Sword ... go and seek counsel in the swamps of the north. Ask him about the scroll.

  "My boy, are you quite all right?" Alistair asked, gazing at him inquisitively.

  Lucius looked up at the druid and suddenly realized he was not dreaming. He waited for the voice to speak again, but heard nothing except for sparrows chirping inside the house.

  "What's on your mind, Lucius? You look as though you've seen an apparition," Alistair said, taking another swig of wine.

  "I ... I have an old parchment in my possession," Lucius said finally. "I am very confused by it, and I wonder if you could read it?"

  "I would be honored, lad. Reading ancient texts is one of my favorite hobbies, in case you hadn't noticed." Alistair gestured to the numerous cluttered bookcases and shelves filled with scrolls and tomes around the room.

  Lucius fetched the red scroll from his bag and handed it to Alistair, who sniffed it a few times before unrolling it. His gray eyes squinted thoughtfully, and he mumbled to himself while reading the first few passages. Lucius watched him closely for a time, waiting for some insight about Yesu, Yéwa, or his own fate.

  "Dearest Celestine!" Alistair cried, eyes opening wide. "This is a copy of the first volume of the Genesian Chronicles! The Order has been in search of this text for ages."

  "Wait, I don't understand," Lucius confessed. "What are the Genesian Chronicles?"

  "The Genesian Chronicles are the origins of men written millennia ago. There are two volumes: Primorus and Ultimum. This red scroll is the Primorus—the beginning of man. The Ultimum is the second volume, and it chronicles the eternal reign of Yesu and the fate of mankind's future."

  "The eternal reign of Yesu?" Lucius asked. "But he died. The red scroll says he was killed."

  Alistair smiled. "Aye, he was killed, but he did not remain dead, my boy. According to the Ultimum, Yéwa lifted his son out of the grave and exalted him into a glorious state of new life. It is quite a fascinating read."

  Yesu is alive? Lucius could not believe it. All this time there was another scroll—a second chapter to a story that seemed so final and hopeless.

  "The second volume speaks more about the son of Yéwa and also of Ysbryd, the eternal spirit," Alistair said, rising from his seat. He began searching through one of the bookcases and eventually procured a white scroll tied with a golden ribbon. "Here it is, the Order's copy of the Ultimum. You are free to read it if you plan to stay, but it cannot leave here since it is the only remaining copy in existence."

  "Thank you, I would very much like to read it," Lucius said, taking the scroll. He untied the ribbon and unrolled it. Gold lettering adorned the parchment, and a rich smell of myrrh emanated from the page.

  "I do wish to caution you, Lucius," Alistair said, suddenly grim in expression. "You will learn more of Yesu in this scroll, but you will also learn more about his enemy."

  "His enemy?" Lucius looked at him quizzically. "Do you mean Kraegyn?"

  "No. Kraegyn is a foul villain to be sure—as is his master, Nergoth. But they are servants to a darker evil as old as time itself. I do not dare say his true name now, but he is come to be known as the Wretched One," Alistair whispered.

  "You spoke of him before when we first met in the swamp. Is he also who you warned Siegfried about?"

  "Indeed. The Wretched One roams in the shadows and dark places of the world. He is an entity of malice, exiled from Caelum in ages past. He has lingered here since the days when men first arrived in Azuleah. The elves tried to cast him out by the power of D'arya but failed in their efforts," Alistair said, stroking his long beard.

  "So what does this Wretched One want?"

  "Vengeance upon Yéwa. He seeks to deceive the living and lure men away from their God. The Genesian Chronicles implore men to ignore his lies and follow the light, but many in Azuleah have unknowingly succumbed to his evil by their own ignorance. Many have abandoned Yéwa and forgotten these texts."

  Lucius felt a twinge of guilt at the druid's words. In his own way, he had abandoned Yéwa when he learned of Yesu's downfall. He had no faith in Yéwa's ability to help him or guide him. But Yesu was alive, and the voice of the light led him to Alistair. Doubts about Yéwa still tugged at him, but his heart longed to trust in a power greater than himself. If Alistair's words were true, the Wretched One was an evil force beyond any mortal. Lucius did not want to face such a powerful enemy without Yéwa at his side. He wondered if he had already underestimated the Wretched One's power by succumbing to doubt.

  "How does the Wretched One lure men away from Yéwa?" Lucius asked.

  "Why, he lies to them, of course. He promises power, wealth, and immortality to all who align with him. You can seldom find a man uninterested in such things," Alistair said, nodding his head gently. "Elves are not so easily ensnared, but he is a crafty devil. He found a way to lure thousands of elves away from D'arya to Nergoth, resulting in those fiendish abominations, the Draknoir."

  "What about dwarves? Has he ensnared them too?"

  "Oh yes. The dwarves of Ulfr's kingdom have often succumbed to their greed and lust for treasure. I don't doubt the Wretched One has somehow influenced their selfish pursuits and isolated existence. The same could be said of the faeries, who hide themselves from outsiders and care not for the affairs of others in Azuleah. I suppose if you really consider it, all who live for their own pursuits and neglect the plight of others fall victim to the Wretched One."

  Lucius sank in his seat. What mortal could withstand the Wretched One's influence? How could he hope to overcome such evil? Perhaps Yesu was the only one capable of doing it. The Primorus had shown Yesu's compassion and genuine love for others countless times. Lucius wished he had the strength to be so selfless, but he had enough trouble getting along with Siegfried.

  "Is there any way to stop the Wretched One's influence? Surely evil can be overcome by good?" Lucius said, thinking aloud.

  Alistair laughed, which startled Lucius. "My dear boy, of course evil can be overcome by good—that is hardly the issue. The real question is whether or not you are willing to sacrifice everything to overcome evil. The Order of Celestine was willing to sacrifice their lives, and we rid Azuleah of a terrible threat. Good triumphed ... but at a very high cost," the old druid said, tears welling at the corners of his eyes.

  Lucius ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to rekindle painful memories."

  "It's quite all right, Lucius," the druid said, wiping his eyes. "Come, let us forsake this ill discussion of evil and fill our bellies with salted mutton."

  Lucius' stomach growled at the mention of food, forgetting he hadn't eaten for hours. "Salted mutton sounds delicious, but please tell me it tastes better than your wine."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Aldron's Bane

  The streets of Aldron were bustling with activity as the infantry, archers, and horse riders of King Dermont's army crowded the streets preparing for war against Nasgothar. Aldronian
peasants and lords looked on as they saw their fathers, brothers, and sons file into ranks in the square outside Gilead Palace, wondering if they would see their loved ones return from the battlefield. At the height of all the commotion was the Captain of the Royal Guard, Baron Stendahl, suited in his gilded plate armor. He steered his warhorse to the front of the city square amid the entire army and people of Aldron. He felt a sudden exhilaration for battle as all eyes turned to him.

  "My friends and countrymen," Baron yelled, "we stand on the threshold of a great battle that will shake the foundations of our age. Long have we fought the Draknoir hordes of Nasgothar attempting to finally be rid of our oppressors, and long have we failed at this task. Many of us have lost hope in seeing a day when our families could walk on the Barren Road or sail in the Sea of Lagrimas without worry of being attacked by the Draknoir filth. Even now many of you fear an attack on this great city, and many more have lost their faith in Yéwa, our protector, believing the glory days of men are all but spent.

  "But I tell you, dear folk of Aldron and Joppa, the sun has not yet set on our time! If we must die, then let us die fighting a battle worthy of remembrance in the tales of our descendants! Our enemies will face our wrath in this war on two fronts—through land and sea. Even as I speak, twenty-thousand of the King's men march to Ithileo for battle, and those you see here will depart on ships through the Sea of Lagrimas to our enemy's door." Baron paused for a moment, feeling the tension of the crowd and his men building.

  "The age of men is now. Let us fight for our children, for our families, and for our city! For Aldron!" Baron cried, unsheathing his sword and holding it high. The Aldronian army mimicked him and thrust their swords into the air with a thunderous war cry.

  Baron felt a rush of excitement wash over him, and he began leading the army to the docks. But before they could exit the square, he heard a piercing scream behind him. At first, he thought someone was wailing—saddened to see a family member leave for battle, but then he noticed everyone's eyes were glued to the sky above. A trio of screams erupted from the crowd as Baron finally turned his face upward and saw a horrible sight—two dragons barreling down from the sky toward the square.

  Pandemonium swept through crowd like a broom through dust. Mothers clutched their children and ran for cover while soldiers lifted their shields to defend themselves from the imminent attack. Baron was frozen in place for a moment before he finally yelled an order.

  "Archers! Ready your arrows and aim!" he ordered, raising an arm in the air.

  The sound of thousands of bowstrings being stretched filled the square as Baron watched the dragons in flight. The beasts descended from the clouds, and he heard the massive flap of their wings growing louder. Sweat trickled from his brow down his cheek as he waited for the opportune moment. The dragon's scaly faces and gaping jaws were distinguishable now in the distance. Baron heard the single twang of a bow as a frightened archer released an arrow early.

  "Hold!" Baron yelled.

  The dragons roared above, now within shooting distance of the archers. Baron dropped his arm and signaled for the men to fire. A great volley of arrows flew in the air like a flock of birds. Growls of pain escaped the mouths of the dragons as arrows forged from mithas became embedded in their hides. But the attack was too weak to slay a dragon, or severely injury them. The dragons continued their descent while Baron commanded the archers to prepare a second volley. It was a vain effort. In an instant both dragons were upon them, swooping low and releasing torrents of fire from their mouths.

  Instinctively, Baron jumped off his horse and ran with his shield covering his face toward a nearby colonnade. The flames wrapped all around his shield and poured out behind him where his men crouched with their shields held over their heads. Screams of agony filled the square as unprotected peasants were engulfed in the fire.

  When the dragons completed their fiery assault, Baron dropped his melted shield and frantically stamped out the flames still burning the unprotected parts of his body. He then looked out from the colonnade and witnessed the horrific sight before him. Many soldiers and peasants lay dead in the square, burnt husks of the living people they once were. Those still living writhed in pain from the red, seared flesh that had now replaced their healthy skin. Baron coughed at the stench of smoke and death filling the air. He could not keep his eyes away from the slain and suffering until he realized the dragons were circling the city, burning all of Aldron.

  Dozens of palace guards poured out from the gates of Gilead Palace, none of them prepared for the massacre outside. Baron ordered them to man the ballistas on the second level of the palace. He ran out of the portico and toward the palace gates, cautiously watching the sky for another attack on the square. Loud cries of pain and fear echoed throughout the city along with the roars and blasts of fire coming from the dragons. Baron ordered everyone in the square, wounded or not, to enter the palace—the only place built to withstand the dragon's siege. He held the gate open, yelling for anyone nearby to hurry through the palace courtyard into the king's hall, but many perished before reaching the gate. In a split second, the dragons had made another pass in the burning square and engulfed everything in flames. Baron was forced to shut the gates to avoid the fiery onslaught, leaving many innocents to burn. He heard the dragons' wings beat loudly as they ascended once more, likely targeting another section of the city.

  Hundreds of terrified Aldronians and soldiers in the courtyard ran up the stone stairs leading into the king's hall. Baron climbed up the stairs and grabbed the arm of a young commander who was ushering the people inside. "Tell King Alfryd he must seek refuge with the people below ground—in the armory," he ordered.

  "Yes, my lord," the young soldier replied. He gave a quick nod before rushing into the king's hall with the rest of the frantic crowd.

  Baron descended back into the courtyard and peered into the sky. The dragons were nowhere to be seen, but he could still hear screams and see smoke rising outside the perimeter of the palace walls. The large stone walls would prevent the fires from spreading into Gilead Palace, but the damage would be extensive for the rest of the city. Baron quickly walked through the empty courtyard to the smoldering gate and pushed it open. Steady fires and piles of ash filled the square accompanied by plumes of smoke in all directions. He searched the square for any signs of life, but found none.

  A bellowing cry in the distance startled him. Baron looked up and saw the flying nightmares high above in the distance, raining their molten breath just south of where he stood and rapidly approaching the once regal square. Exasperation and despair gnawed at him. So much death ... so much destruction. The exhilaration of battle he relished was long gone in the face of this threat. Now he only prayed for Yéwa to spare Aldron from being razed.

  As the dragons drew nearer, Baron gazed up at the palace walls and cursed when he saw the unmanned ballistas. All the soldiers had fled, but perhaps he could land a bolt in a dragon's neck before the day was done. He raced back to the gate, but a woman's cry for help stopped him. Searching through the embers and smoke, he found her outside of a burning inn facing the town square. The woman was pinned under some debris and Baron worked quickly to free her. Once the debris was clear, he helped the woman to her feet. She wore a black cloak matching her dark hair and looked quite distraught.

  "Come, those dragons are heading back this way. Follow me," Baron said.

  The woman nodded and followed him to the blackened gates. The thundering sound of dragon wings increased behind them followed by a glottal cry from one of airborne monstrosities. Baron looked behind and saw an orange dragon descending closer toward the square. He willed his legs to move faster and bounded through the gates. The stairs to the king's hall were within reach, but an unexpected jolt of pain in his lower back caused him to stumble and fall hard on the stone floor. His hands instinctively searched for the source of the pain as he clenched his teeth. Near the small of his back, where the armor failed to shield him, Baron felt the hilt of
a dagger sticking out. The assassin's boots came into view beside him as he painfully removed the dagger from his back. She looked down at him with a pleased smirk as blood drained profusely from his body.

  "I must admit it was a challenge to finally get close enough to kill you, Captain Stendahl," the woman said, kneeling beside him with her elbows on her knees.

  Baron's sight began to blur, and he struggled to grip the dagger tightly in his right hand. He quickly used his remaining strength to thrust the dagger into the assassin's neck, but was foiled when she blocked the attempted strike effortlessly. The woman twisted his wrist in her hand—breaking it—and grabbed the dagger with her free hand. He yelled in agony and struggled to escape, but his fatally wounded body prevented any exertion. He could only lie on the floor and bleed.

  The woman opened her mouth to say something, but the nearby scream of the dragons diverted her attention. Baron struggled to crawl toward the stone stairs, but his killer pushed him down with her boot as she stood up. She glared down at him for the final time, aiming the point of the dagger at him for the killing stroke.

  "I don't usually let my quarry escape, but I doubt you'll avoid the dragon's fire," the assassin said, tucking the dagger in her belt. "Be comforted in knowing you did not live to see the full measure of Lord Memnon's wrath on Aldron, Captain."