Brothers of Blood (Fall of a King Book 2)

by James Fuller

  His arms and shoulder muscles screamed in protest as he deflected another powerful combination attack from Donner and at the same time, corrected his footing as the ground shifted and cracked beneath him. Meath parried the final attack wide and released a pulse of air from his palm, but Donner was quick to avoid it. What the man did not avoid was the small sinkhole that off-balanced him momentarily. Sensing his moment, Meath lunged forward, hoping to finally score a blow on his teacher. He gasped in surprise as Donner slapped at the ironwood blade with his free hand; Meath’s sword was ripped from his sweaty grip and skipped across the ground with unrelenting force. Before Meath could recover, he felt a light tap on his neck and knew he had been finished…again.

  “You died again.”

  “How did you do that?” Meath asked in complete wonder as he stared at his teacher, then back to his fallen sword.

  Donner smiled. “A trick only few know about and even fewer can achieve. You must learn to hold a powerful pulse of air within your palm, to deflect an enemy’s weapon. No easy task to accomplish, I can assure you, but one of great benefit in a time of need.”

  “Can you teach me?” Meath asked eagerly, wiping sweat and hair from his brow as he glanced down at his own hand.

  Donner retrieved Meath’s fallen ironwood sword. “All in good time - first you must learn to perfect what I have already taught you.” He tossed the sword back to Meath and charged. The sound of wood clashing resounded loudly within the small dale in which Donner had made his home.

  “You have made much improvement, Meath… you should take pride in knowing that.” Donner said, taking a long drink of water from a clay pitcher as they sat beneath the shadow cast by a stone fruit tree.

  Meath rested his head against the tree’s smooth bark. “Yet will it be enough?”

  Donner put the pitcher down with a sigh. “You could be here half a score of years and never have the full training your brother has.”

  “Then what is the point of all this, if I am just going to lose?” Meath asked, discouragement in his voice. “Why not just send me out to my fate now?”

  “Why do you assume that because you have less training, that you will lose?” Donner asked with a raised brow.

  “Because he is better prepared, and stronger than I am. He has the advantage.”

  “Yes, he does have ‘an’ advantage, but in a fight, each opponent does. Some are faster, stronger, have better weapons, know the terrain…or are smarter. None of these things decide the outcome. Yes, they may place favor toward one or another, but that will not decide the outcome. I once watched a simple old pig farmer defeat two of the fiercest men I have ever encountered with nothing more than a pitch fork and his will to protect his family.” Donner stood and reached out his hand to help Meath up. “You have two great advantages over Astaroth that you ignore and play down. One, you have the honor of your friends to put right and that makes you a very dangerous enemy.”

  Meath took Donner’s hand and got to his feet. “And the other?”

  Donner grinned. “He does not even know you are coming for him.”

  Meath made his way to the archives. It was far past midday and he knew Stefan would be waiting for him. His training with Donner had gone on longer than usual, by Meath’s own request. He was learning things the last few weeks he never imagined he would be able to do or even knew could be done. He doubted that even Ursa knew of many of these techniques and he hoped that one day he would be able to show him all he had learned. The thought of his adopted father stung at his heart and he had to force himself to stop the train of thought before it overwhelmed him.

  Over the last few weeks, Donner had quickly become more than just a teacher and Meath had taken a quick liking to the man and his honest, direct approach.

  “Good afternoon, Meath,” a young group of wizards said as they passed by.

  “Afternoon to all you as well,” Meath replied.

  One of the wizards strayed back from the group and Meath could tell he wanted to talk. The boy was no more than sixteen - fair haired and softly spoken, he approached shyly. Meath could barely place his name. “Sedric, right?”

  The boy beamed. “Yes, yes that is my name. I am surprised you remembered it.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  The boy’s eyes shifted to the ground as he seemed to struggle for words. “Well I... I was wondering if maybe... you could teach me to use a sword.”

  Meath was taken aback by the strange request. “Me? Why do you not go and ask Lady Zada if you can begin training with Donner? I am sure it can be arranged.”

  “No, that will not work,” Sedric sighed.

  “Why not? I could ask for you if you would like.”

  “No!” The boy cried out. “Do not worry about it, I am sorry to have bothered you, Meath.”

  Before Meath could reply, the boy sprinted off after his friends and was gone. Meath stood there dumbfounded for a time, before continuing on his way to meet Stefan.

  He reached the archives and saw Stefan waiting for him anxiously. Since meeting Stefan, they too had become friends and shared much of Meath’s free time.

  Meath had noticed a big change in Stefan the more time they spent together. He was not as soft spoken as he had once been and his whole demeanor had completely changed. Seldom were his shouldered hunched and eyes averted to the ground now. He was truly surprised Stefan did not associate more with the others in Salvas - he was more than likable and clearly smart beyond his years. However, the druid seemed to have no interest in the others.

  “Meath, there you are!” Stefan called out. “I was beginning to think Donner worked you to death.”

  “No, I am still on this side of the grass,” Meath chuckled.

  “I have the board set up…if you want to lose another game.” Stefan smiled cockily. He had been teaching Meath an old game - Knights and Dragons- which had been played in Salvas for nearly a thousand years. It was a board game of strategy and took a keen mind to play and even though Meath had yet to win a game, he thoroughly enjoyed it.

  “Of course, but this time I think I will finally win!” Meath said with a determined grin.

  “Stranger things have happened, I am sure,” Stefan mocked and they entered the alcove. “I was down in the catacombs this morning and came across one of the original boards and pieces. Surprisingly, they are all in great condition…as old as they are.”

  Meath sat in his chair and marveled at the ancient board and pieces. The dragons were crafted of polished jade and ruby, while the knights were sculpted marble fitted with tiny metal armor. “This is magnificent!” Meath gasped as he fingered several of the pieces, inspecting their fine craftsmanship.

  “Beats that wooden one we have been using,” Stefan sat across from him, “though I am not sure if I was allowed to take it from the catacombs.” He shrugged as if it did not matter -something Meath had never seen him do before.

  Meath unstrapped his father’s dagger from his belt and placed it on the table, so he might sit more comfortably. Stefan’s eyes went straight to the blade and his face paled. “What is it?” Meath asked suddenly concerned for his friend.

  “Where... where did you get that?” He asked, his eyes not leaving the dagger. “That should be in the catacombs.”

  “My mothe—” Meath caught himself. “Lady Zada gave it to me. It was Thane’s, my father’s… and he wanted it passed on to his son.” It was his turn to shrug. “Ironic that it went to the son that should have already been dead, to help aid him in killing the son that was meant to live.”

  Stefan ignored Meath’s morbid humor. “What did she tell you about it?” He questioned, his eyes locking with Meath’s.

  “Nothing really - just that it is made of dragon-bone and is to be kept in the family, why?”

  “Nothing, it is nothing,” Stefan stammered. “I have passed by the blade a hundred times in the catacombs and never assumed I would see it out from Thane’s old armor…that is all.”

  “Would
you like a closer look?” Meath slid the dagger over and Stefan nearly stumbled from his chair.

  “No, no that is all right, Meath.” Stefan stuttered, trying to compose himself quickly. “Let us just play our game.”

  Meath found his friend’s reaction odd but decided not to push the issue. If Stefan had something to tell him, he would. “I warn you, I have been thinking a lot about this and I think I will beat you this time.”

  “I welcome the challenge,” Stefan replied, trying hard to keep his eyes from the dragon-bone blade.

  Meath left the archive and was surprised at how late it was already. The sky would soon be alight with the vivid colors of Salvas’ stunning sunset. He knew tomorrow would be another long day - first with Tabitha and then with Donner - but he had so few opportunities to enjoy the peacefulness of the sunset lately and decided tonight he would watch it.

  “Meath, wait up!” A familiar, soft voiced called out to him as he headed down the path that would take him to a large, hilly meadow.

  He turned to see a head of long, golden hair, jogging towards him. “What are you doing here this late?”

  Tabitha stopped just short of him. “I was looking for you of course.” Her smile was bright and full of life as she held up a bottle of amber liquid. “I heard today that you almost bested Donner in practice and though we should celebrate.”

  “You think I should celebrate a near win?” Meath cocked a brow.

  “Of course!” Tabitha exclaimed. “Against Donner, almost is better than anyone else has that still resides here.”

  Meath could not help but smile at her humorous candidness. “Well with logic like that, how could I refuse?” He joked as he took the bottle of wine from her and was surprised it had been chilled. “It is even cold.”

  “Of course it is,” she smiled loftily. “One does not drink a bottle of Salvain Red of this vintage without it being the right temperature. It makes all the difference, I promise you.”

  “I shall take your word for it,” Meath replied. “But I see you forgot something.”

  Tabitha’s eyes went wide with fear. “What did I forget?”

  “Glasses to drink it with, perhaps?”

  Her smirk and eyes were full of intrigued amusement. “You do not still think girls have germs, do you?” She took the bottle from him, removed the cork and took a long drink, before handing it back to him.

  “Hey, as a child, it was a fair assessment,” Meath exclaimed jokingly, taking a drink of the cooled wine. “You are right,” he said with a sage nod, “cold is better.”

  “Women normally are,” she teased. “Come on, we are going to miss the sunset. I know the perfect place to watch from.”

  Meath could not help but get caught up in her positive energy as he followed her hastily up the path.

  They laid on top of a tall, grassy knoll, looking up at the vibrant colors bleeding into one another, a dramatic display of one of the world’s purest forms of perfection. They lay side by side, the skin of their arms touching now as they passed the bottle of Salvain Red back and forth, savoring its exquisite flavor.

  “I have lived in Salvas my whole life and I do not think I could ever tire of watching the sunsets. Sadly, not many here seem to appreciate the serenity and chaste beauty of them as I do. It is something I will never understand.”

  “I use to climb to the top of the watchtower on the battlements of Draco Castle and watch them nearly every night when I was a child. Something about them always seemed to calm me before bed.”

  Tabitha turned onto her side to face him. “It is nice to finally have someone to share them with…who understands.”

  Meath caught himself before he told her he had once had someone to watch them with. The momentary thought dampened his mood and his face must have shown it.

  “What is a matter?” She asked, concerned.

  “It is nothing,” he lied, “just part of the past that…I…I need to learn to let go of.”

  Tabitha rested her hand upon his shoulder. “It is okay, Meath, I understand.”

  Meath could not help but smile as her bright blue eyes looked down at him. “Thank you Tabitha, I truly needed this,” Meath admitted, handing the bottle back to her as he sat up. The effects of the wine swarmed through him, causing his vision to blur and his head to swoon. “That wine packs a punch,” he said, speech slurred slightly now as he felt himself fall back down to the soft grass.

  “Four-hundred year old wine will do that if you are not...” Her voice trailed off as if it were getting further away.

  “What was that?” Meath asked, blinking away the dizziness and turning to see why Tabitha had stopped talking. His eyes widened at the figure lying next to him and he blinked several more times, knowing he could not be seeing who he was seeing. “Nic... Nicolette?” He stammered out awkwardly, his heart quickening at the sight of her lying beside him in a simple satin blue dress.

  “Oh, Meath, how I have missed you dearly.” Nicolette whispered tenderly, her hand gently caressing his unshaven face.

  Tears threatened to escape him as he stared into her bright, golden-brown eyes. “This... this cannot be real,” he gasped, “you... you are... dead.” He choked out the last word.

  Nicolette’s expression was solemn. “I am, but not even death could keep our love apart forever.” She leaned in and kissed his lips.

  Meath swallowed back a lump in his throat. “So I am dreaming then?”

  Nicolette nodded, her expression brightening. “Yes, you are my sweet. But that does not mean we cannot enjoy this time we have been granted.”

  Meath ran his hand across her soft cheeks, almost afraid to touch her; afraid she would vanish beneath his touch. “Then I pray to the Creator that I never wake.” Nicolette moved tightly against him and he could feel her body’s warmth against his.

  “You are needed for important things, my love,” Nicolette whispered in his ear and she kissed the nape of his neck.

  “I care not for those things - all I care about is you,” He whispered in reply, getting lost in her sweet scent.

  She looked him longingly in the eyes. “I know, my love. One day we will have forever, but for now we have tonight until you awake once more. Let us not waste it on talk.” She pressed herself into him, feeling his blood stir beneath her.

  Meath moaned in sudden arousal as her hips thrust against him. He wanted to tell her everything he had ever dreamed of telling her - of how much his heart hurt; knowing she was dead and that he had failed her. But he knew she was right, if they only had tonight he would show her how much he loved her instead.

  He rolled her onto her back, his hand caressing her shoulder as his fingers slid the thin dress straps down her arms. His lips followed the strap’s descent as he placed tender kisses down her neck and shoulder, drawing a deep gasp from her.

  He continued his exploration of her slender curves, down her leg until he reached the end of the silky material that made up her dress. His hand slipped underneath and slowly made its way up her thigh, his rough hands as gentle as possible, even though his hunger for her grew with each explored inch. She arched herself against him as the audacious sensations flooded through her body. Her need for him only intensified his. He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her with more passion than any of his fumbled words could have ever hoped to express.

  He felt her hands grip his shirt with uncontainable longing as she ripped it open, caring not at all for the buttons that popped free and disappeared into the long grass. He relished in the feeling of her greedy hands upon his bare skin and nearly lost all control as she nibbled his lower lip.

  Meath greedily pulled her dress down, exposing her voluptuous breasts; his mouth impatiently indulging in the silken flesh that had been hidden beneath. Her hand buried itself into his long hair as she moaned. The louder she got, the tighter her grip became, almost crossing the threshold between pleasure and pain. He could contain himself no longer; he positioned himself between her thighs and their eyes locked. />
  “I have dreamed of this...” Nicolette’s words were cut short by her loud gasp of ecstasy.

  Meath was no longer in control of his body’s movements - it reacted purely on a physical instinct as their bodies melded together in a primal rhythm.

  “Nicolette!” Meath called out. The sound of his voice startled him awake. He sat up. His eyes were blurred from the deep slumber he had been in and the throbbing pain in his head from the consumption of too much wine did little to help. Confusion lanced through him as he found himself within his room and he could not recall how he had gotten there. The pain in his head forced him to lie back down and his stomach threatened to expel what was still in it.

  “It was only a dream,” he whispered sorrowfully as tears moistened his eyes. It had felt so real that he could still almost feel the weight of her body upon him and the soft caress of her lips upon his own. He closed his eyes and begged whatever entity that would listen to bring him back to that dream world, where they were together.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Meath pulled himself reluctantly from his bed. It had only been a dream and he would not allow himself to fall into that depth of depression again.

  With a glance out his window he knew he had overslept and wondered why no one had come to retrieve him. He quickly changed clothing and left his room, in search of Tabitha.

  Meath found her not long after, leaving Lady Zada’s house. “Tabitha!” He called to her and she seemed surprised to see him.

  “Meath, you managed to get up!” She replied. “I was sure that wine had done you in for the day. I thought you outsiders could hold your liquor better than that.”

  Meath ignored the teasing jab. “What happened last night?”

  “I found out you cannot handle your wine.” She winked.