Read River of Spears (Kingdom's Forge Book 0) Online
Authors: Kade Derricks
River of Spears (Kingdom's Forge Book 0) (13 page)
Perhaps I have a chance at redemption,
he considered.
Is that what I want? Redemption? Or do I want a quiet farm at the mountain’s edge and a chance at peace?
He scratched Boon’s ear and fed him a carrot.
“No more wars for us,” he promised. “We’ll get in, find our fortune, and get out.” Dain looked up to the horizon. “It’ll be different next time.”
Keep reading for the first chapter of Paladin’s Redemption.
PALADIN’S REDEMPTION:
CHAPTER ONE
S
hod hooves thundered over the worn cobblestone streets behind the boy. He couldn’t see the horse, or its rider—the night was too black and full of smoke, but he felt his pursuer’s dark presence.
All around him the city burned. Sooty ash thickened the air and glowing embers drifted down in lazy spirals like hungry, orange snow, igniting whatever they touched. The homes of the wealthiest nobles and those of the poorest beggars, the flames devoured them all.
The boy’s wide green eyes took everything in. He felt the wind’s hot breath and the screams of men, women, and children, trapped and burning, echoed through his ears.
“Admiring your handiwork?”
The rider’s voice was hollow, unfeeling, without even the faintest trace of humanity. It came from an alleyway not twenty feet away.
“Come on now, run for me. Give me a bit of sport before this ends.”
The boy raced through the streets, outrunning both blaze and rider, past Merchants’ Row and through the estates of the lesser nobility. The fire remained at bay here, just a reddish glow on the horizon. That wouldn’t last, the boy knew. The destruction, like the rider, was close on his heels. Coughing from the smoke in his lungs, he ran on.
Young and strong, he shouldn’t have been tired, but the smoke and heat had sapped his strength along with his resolve. He needed somewhere to hide, a place the rider might pass by. His stride slowed, then stopped. Still breathing hard, he tried a nearby door. The knob turned slightly, clicking open but when he pushed inward, he felt the latched deadbolt.
Locked, like the last, and the one before. They were all locked tonight. There would be no refuge, no sanctuary from the rider.
His pursuer laughed behind him, as if sensing his despair.
“The night is ended soon, dawn draws near. It is almost time.”
The hoofbeats came closer. In spite of himself, the boy turned and looked. A short distance away, below the layer of smoke, bright sparks flew with the horse’s every step.
Again he ran. Across the bridge spanning the river, then through the city’s heart, past the towering stone fortress where the great lord ruled, and finally through the outer gate toward the cemetery, the boy ran until his legs and lungs burned with effort.
Exhausted, he collapsed behind an ancient crypt. His stomach cramped. If he had eaten more than stale bread these last few days he certainly would have vomited. He forced his breath steady and strained to catch any sounds of pursuit. Had he escaped?
“How appropriate…you’ve come exactly where I planned on bringing you,” that inhuman voice came again. It was both terrifyingly close and yet still far away. “Even a traitor deserves a decent burial, after all.”
Tears fell from the boy’s eyes, rolling over his flushed cheeks and down onto his sweat-stained shirt and hands. There could be no more running, his legs could bear him no further. He needed a place to hide.
The door of a nearby crypt lay cracked open. Quiet as a shadow, he snuck inside, less afraid of the tomb’s occupants than of his pursuer.
Once inside, an inky darkness shrouded him. Only a thin wedge of light shone in through the partially-opened door. He thought to close it, but it could creak and alert the rider. He knew it would.
The boy felt for a weapon. He was no easy prey, he would not go without a fight. His hands touched on smooth, dried bone, and he stifled a scream. He did not want to disturb the restful dead. His parents had taught him to revere those who had moved into the Light’s embrace, but desperation goaded him on and he reached out blindly again, sweat and tears stinging his eyes. A femur or another heavy bone, he could use for a makeshift club. His fingers came to rest on the corpse’s hollow, round skull and then, lower down, he felt its skeletal hands clasped together over something hard and metallic.
“Come now, come on out and finish this. I will find you, we both know that. No matter how many times we play this game, I always find you in the end,” the voice taunted.
The boy pried the lifeless fingers apart, revealing cold metal underneath. He took it in both hands.
The hilt of a sword
. Easing the weapon free, he held it out before him.
Though he couldn’t see it, the blade’s weight told him it was a longsword. He had practiced with one sparingly. His teacher had thought it too clumsy and slow for a boy of his size, but tonight it was all he had. Perhaps he could catch the rider unprepared with a lucky blow. He couldn’t wield the blade in the crypt though. He needed to be outside.
With all the stealth he could muster, he slipped back out into the open.
The spreading fire now lit the night clearly. Determined flames even fought their way up the stone fortress, like some fierce barbarian horde.
“So, you would face me with a sword,” the rider chuckled. “Excellent. Something new. Let us see if you are worthy of a blade.”
The rider stood before him, his own dark sword drawn and ready. The boy raised his weapon high overhead, ready to strike. Anger and determination flooded through his veins, overpowering his fear. He swung. And so did the rider. The blades clashed and then he spun, slashing with a wide, flat stroke. He felt the satisfying crunch of the rider’s armor and knew he had landed a hit.
“You hit me. You actually hit me,” the rider said. “How dare you, traitor.”
Before the boy could recover, the rider swung again and knocked the longsword clear of his hands. His eyes tried following its flight, but the shadows swallowed it whole. The rider punched him then, forcing the breath from his lungs and knocking him face first onto the thick cemetery grass.
“Look upon me before you die traitor. Know who has brought you to justice.” The rider removed his steel helm and tossed it at the boy’s heaving chest.
The boy looked up. He tried to speak, but could only mouth the words.
The rider’s blade rose, caught the fire’s orange light for a moment, and then swept down.
“Father!”
Dain jerked awake.
He sat up in his blankets, shivering and covered in sweat. His clenched fists shook and his racing heart pounded in his ears. He stretched out his fingers and stared at his trembling hands—the calloused hands of a man, not a frightened boy. He willed them to steady.
The dream again. Will it ever fade?
Dain lay back down and after long moments, calmed himself enough to rise. He dressed himself, and then stepped out into the cold.
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