Blood Ties (Noble of Blood Series Book 2) (3 page)

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two riders came upon the abandoned village under a large full moon. The winter chill had just left the air barely a fortnight ago, but up here that merely meant that summer was starting.

They rode in, somber and quiet, only their horses’ hooves making any sound. The beasts were large and muscled like work horses, but these animals were far more agile and swift and much more intelligent. They carried their dark riders confidently through the maze of dilapidated buildings, never missing a step. If you were to watch them walk by it would appear as if the horses knew where to go on their own, as there were no visible signals from the riders.

Both riders were dressed in long cloaks that billowed out behind them like flags of war. The rest of their attire was dark and loosely fitted in layers to keep out the chill. The moon shone brightly upon the metal fastenings of the horse's tackle, and upon the shiny dagger each of them carried at the ready upon their belts. The daggers were made of a blackish metal, but still had a sheen to them as if they were just polished.

The hoods of their cloaks were pulled up over their heads so you could not see their faces. But if they were to look upon you their eyes sparkled like lightning. They rode through the corpses of houses and shops like Death itself come to claim the lost land.

They pulled to a stop next to a patch of land that looked like it had been cleared of grass, and was now just covered in dirt from the wind. Dismounting, they stood with their heads down, seemingly in reverence of the place. But really they were loath to come back here.

Yosan the Dark Horse and Hudreia the Firebard stood over the entrance to the underground room that held their Chambers. They had finally come back to the beginning of it all.

Hudreia lowered herself to the ground and cleared the dirt away from the surface with her hands. Her brushing uncovered five stones, red in color and smooth to the touch, laid out in an odd arc pattern.

She looked up to Yosan who nodded at her to proceed. She spread the fingers of her right hand and placed each fingertip upon one of the stones. They shone bright red as they recognized her and the stone surface rolled back to reveal the cavern below.

Yosan dropped down into the cavern.

“The triggers have been set off. There has been someone in here since we last sealed this place,” he called up to her.

“But no one can open this, except the Three.”

“It seems that Mortul has returned for his Chamber. It is gone. Yet he would not set off the triggers, they would recognize him. It had to be someone else but that is impossible. It takes someone of our blood to open the seal.”

Hudreia stood and considered what Yosan told her. As she stood in thought she felt a warm wind against her face, and she pushed back her hood to feel it fully. A crooked smile came upon her face as she recognized the feeling.

“Mordred, show yourself,” she said sweetly. “I know you are here, still protecting these ruins. Why have you not left this place? Show yourself and tell me.”

The warm wind picked up in speed slightly and moved past her. A dark visage formed out of the breeze and quickly built up into the body of an older woman. The woman wore a loose dress and a silken scarf upon her head. Black and gray curls of hair threatened to spill out of the scarf. She clutched a staff with both hands, her bony fingers ending in bright red painted fingernails.

“Ah Mordred. Why do you haunt this place still?” Hudreia asked of the woman.

“You know I was charged with a task from Mortul, who is now called The Patriarch by a thousand, thousand people. I was to signal any approach of the Enemy. And even though this place is dead now I still have my task. I have laid the groundwork for our readiness, the Enemy has closed in upon these lands once again.” Mordred's voice was deep but creaky like old floor boards.

“Then you know who has been here since Mortul took away his Chamber?” Yosan asked as he came back above ground, not seeming surprised to see the old crone.

“I do. Indeed. He was of Mortul himself, strong like him in both body and spirit. He is a key to the coming war. His bloodline is what our survival hinges upon.”

“Still talking in riddles after all these years. He was of Mortul? And what about his bloodline? Mortul is Noble and thus has no continued bloodline,” Yosan stated.

“That is where you are wrong. And we all had ties before the war, before the change.” Her gaze bored into Yosan.

Hudreia had taken in the banter between her comrade and old friend silently. Something was off about Mordred though, and she could not quite place it.

“Before the change?” She asked interrupting them. “You speak as if you have experienced the change. You did not change with us, you have no chamber. How is it then that your magicks as a Seer have kept you alive all this time?” She looked pointedly at Mordred, demanding answers.

“There is a chamber missing. The Patriarch is a master spell crafter. Seek your answers with him, and you shall find answers to questions you never knew you had.” Mordred's shape grew smoky as another warm wind picked up. “South. Venture south to the villages of men. You will find him there, locked away from those he rules over.” Her voice carried away with the breeze as it blew her away.

“That crazy old woman has never given us anything but questions to ask. Why did Mortul ever put up with her?” Yosan wondered as he looked off in the direction the warm breeze went.

Hudreia knew one thing, they needed to find answers. “She said the Enemy is here. If there is one thing she can be counted on for, it is her premonitions of war.” Looking southward, she could see the plains stretching out into forests as far as she could see. She knew in that direction would be the abyssal crater where they ended the old war.

The crater was full of secrets. Secrets they had never spoken of after the war. What they had found and destroyed there was never mentioned again after they rode away from that battlefield.

She was startled as she felt Yosan's hand on her shoulder. Not much unnerved her, but thinking of that place dredged up too many memories she had pushed away for so long.

“Let us ride south. See what our old friend Mortul has gotten himself into nowadays,” she said as she turned and walked away, mounting her palomino-colored horse that had dozed off. The nap it had would have to do until they stopped for the day. She snapped her hood back up over her head and spurred her horse forward. Onward toward the crater she had hoped to never see again.

Victo
r
stood watching over the two girls as they practiced tonight with real weapons instead of the blunted training swords. The yard was surrounded by torches and a bit too brightly lit for his taste, but the Smithy girl needed to adjust to the dark slowly.

Nikka paced in a circle around the girl. She carried two short swords, one in each hand. She carried them lazily but Victor knew better. She liked to carry the element of surprise. The Smithy girl had not quite caught onto that.

Friesa herself carried two daggers. One of the long and curved ones she had shown them before, and her other was shorter but wide, double-edged and thin and fast to strike with.

Nikka stopped her pacing. He knew it was bait and watched as the other girl took it. Friesa bent at the knees and launched herself low and quick to Nikka's left side, bringing her shorter dagger in for a gut strike. As she came in close, her dagger met with a metal clang as Nikka had brought her sword up and stopped her cold with an upward swipe.

He had to give Friesa credit though, she was a quick learner. He watched as the girl flipped her short blade around, pommel first, and at the same time struck out with her goblin blade toward Nikka's right shoulder.

Nikka deftly blocked the shoulder strike with a quick dodge backward, bringing up her swords in an X to catch the longer dagger. But as she did that, Friesa dipped low again, holding Nikka's two blades above her head with the goblin dagger and nicking the Princess just under the ribs with her other blade.

“HOLD!” Victor cried before either of them could move. They strained to stay exact so he could critique them. He would do this often, stopping them in mid-combat to show them the flaws in their attacks, the weaknesses in their defenses.

He walked over to the two of them and looked them both over. Nikka gazed at him, flushed from the fight. At least he thought it was from the fight. Watching her in action like this always made his blood warm up. This was the side of her that was more like her father. Ready for action, fierce and bold and confident.

He paced around them as they stood as still as possible. He took his time looking them over; Nikka straight and tall with her swords still in the X-pattern in front of her, Friesa with her long blade directly above her head holding up those swords and her dagger sidelong against Nikka's stomach. She had nicked her pretty good, there was a trail of blood slowly rolling down her front.

“Good. Friesa that was quick thinking, good change of strategy to throw your opponent off. My Princess, this would be a death strike on the battle field. Be glad she would be fighting next to you and not against you. You can relax now.”

He watched the girls come out of their stances and sheath their weapons. Friesa rolled her neck to stretch her muscles and waited next to Nikka for instructions.

“I believe you two are done with combat training in the yard. We will start training you in different elements next week. In the dark, in the woods, there's even an old cave with some tunnels out in the forest about a mile. Until then we'll take the next few days off of training. The rest of the supplies for the smithy will be coming in tomorrow night. You are dismissed.”

He watched as the two girls instantly started chatting with each other as they walked away from the training circle. The lonely feeling he had been having lately crept back in on him. He felt as if he was losing her to Friesa, bit by bit, more and more each night.

The girl offered his Princess more companionship than he could. He knew that. But he was almost miserable thinking about all the small moments they used to have together, and how few and far between they were now.

“Old friend, I've seen that look upon your face much too often as of late,” Dartein stated as he came up from behind to stand next to him.

“I am not sure what you speak of, my Prince.”

“Oh Victor, I've asked you not to call me that, and that only proves to me how distracted your mind is. You do know my daughter is quite beyond the age where she could choose a partner.”

“It had occurred to me. Which is why we practice often. I need to keep her safe. I was entrusted with her safety, both of yours.” He sighed. He hated to bring up anything about the past, about why they were there and no longer under the Patriarch's protection.

Dartein's hand fell upon his shoulder. “Victor, I know there is no better protector for her than you. You have always protected her physically. I trust you could protect her heart as well.”

Victor looked over at his friend in surprise, his Prince. He saw there the burden of a man who had loved too hard and lost it all. Even with his daughter at his side, he was incomplete. Victor knew the feeling of loss. He had loved, too. Though he had come to love the Princess as much as he had loved her mother. More-so, really. That past love had been a forbidden thing, never acted upon, as she had been his now best friend's wife. But he had never quite gotten over her, had never forgotten her.

But the daughter, his Nikkola, his Princess that he had been honored to place a name upon. She was here and she made him happy every day. But duty and honor held him back from her.

“I do not know that she sees me that way. I am old, Dartein. I am spoiled by my age and all that I have seen and done over the centuries. She is fresh and new and everything good about life. I cannot be the one to ruin her.”

Dartein sighed as he slipped his hand off of Victor’s shoulder. “I do not believe anything can ruin her. She is made of tougher stuff than you or I. I think she would be the one to save you from yourself,” Dartein said as he turned and walked away, back to the keep.

Leaving Victor alone with his old thoughts of the past, and fresh thoughts of the present.

Dartei
n
watched over the next week as his daughter and her new friend became very close. They went almost everywhere together. But they did not let that get in the way of their work. Nikka would bring out the horses one by one from the stalls over to the open room of the smithy and brush and groom them while Friesa worked on the bits and buckles they currently needed.

And at other times Friesa would bring her work with her to the stables and polish her finished pieces while Nikka mucked out the stalls.

Friesa was getting along well in the dark, he observed. He saw that Tynen would steal small moments of her time, seemingly for small chatter. Dartein knew better, though, he knew the man was quite taken with the girl. His intentions seemed pure enough, though, as he never acted upon them and never kept her attention away from her work for more than a few moments at a time.

Yes, Dartein was quite impressed with the girl. He would have hated to send her back to the village now. As it was there had been no word around anywhere from her family, not even in the village itself. It seemed she did not have a home to return to, even if they were to send her back.

So it seemed their situation had become mutually beneficial, even if she did not know the full reasons why. He had never told her that her family had not looked for her. She had found a new home, and his daughter was happy and free for once in her life.

He wasn't sure he could say the same about Victor. Watching his old friend despair over Nikka being drawn away from him was difficult. He knew Nikka had a spot in her heart for the guard, even if Victor refused to see it. He was too good of a man that way sometimes.

He knew of Victor's love for his dead wife. Josaleene had been a treasure. Victor had loved her in secret, vowing to keep her safe even if he could never have her. Victor's loyalty to his Prince was too great of a thing, his honor would have never let him act wrongfully towards him.

But it had still ripped Victor's heart in two, along with his own, when she died. All the worse for them, being completely helpless and unable to save her. They had both left the Patriarch's Palace that night, unable to be around the fake sympathies of the Court.

Only his Father had understood. Or at least he hoped he had. Dartein never spoke with him before he left, nineteen years ago.

Coming out of his reverie he spied tall, lean Clyd walking towards him across the courtyard to where he stood in the main doorway of the keep.

“Sir,” Clyd bowed when he stopped. “We came across a host of goblins earlier in the night. We were able to dispatch them quickly, but as we scouted past that area we saw several other of the buggers’ camps. Each camp 'ad about twenty apiece, close to a 'undred of the bastards in all. We would have attempted to take them out but I only 'ad a dozen rangers with me.”

Dartein nodded his head as he listened. They were getting closer. Not necessarily to the keep, as he believed they did not know it was Nobles living here. But the goblins were getting closer to the villages, in larger numbers.

“Sir,” Clyd was saying “It may be time to start recruiting men from the village close by.”

“If only we could turn them. We need warriors and rangers, not village men with pitchforks and clubs. Nevertheless, it is something to think upon. I trust you and Tynen to clean up as many of those goblins you can. I will try to come up with another plan to help us bolster our numbers.”

“Sir,” Clyd bowed again and walked away. Leaving him to his thoughts again.