Age of Valor: Heritage

  Other Books in the Age of Valor Series

  Awakening

  Dragon Song

  Blood Purge

  Age of Valor:

  Heritage

  D. E. Morris

  CreateSpace

  Copyright © 2014 D. E. Morris

  Cover art by Niken Anindita

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: December 2014

  Second Printing: October 2015

  Third Printing: March 2020

  ISBN: 1503340139

  ISBN-13: 978-1503340138

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  To Dad,

  You got me into this crazy writing business. Thank you.

  He'll have my head this time, I know it for sure.

  Lightning touched down nearby, a clash of sky meeting earth in a loud boom that rumbled even the sturdiest of the castle walls. No one else in the busy kitchen paid it any mind, but the shaking of the ground under the serving girl's feet made her whimper.

  “Calm down,” chided the cook. He barely glanced at her as he sidled past, a cloak of onion, pork fat, and body odor following in his wake. “It's just a little rain.”

  “I...it's more'n that,” she stammered. “Last time I was late with the high king's wine, I thought he was fixed t' toss me out the window.”

  A chorus of muted chuckles rippled through the kitchen. “You wouldn't be the first,” the cook told her. He dumped a bowl of cut up potatoes into a cauldron over the fire. “Just undo the top few laces of your bodice and he'll be sure to forgive you.” Eyeing her and her bosom, he winkled his nose. “And don't talk. At least not until you get rid of that horrible back-water accent of yours.”

  She lifted a hand to clutch at the laces of her dress and lowered her head, heat staining her cheeks.

  A tall woman with half a shaved head and dark skin threw a glare at the cook's back. “Shut it, Kaylib.” She wiped her hands on her stained apron before bending to take the girl's chin in her hands. “Don't let the high king get to you, or any other man in this place for that matter. Understand?”

  The girl nodded, mute.

  “Good.” Straightening, the woman took a tray from a wooden table full of various foods and handed it to her. “Go on, then. And be quick about it.”

  With the tray in hand, the serving girl turned on her heel and climbed the stairs that would take her to the ground floor of the castle, sullenly undoing the top laces of her bodice. The rain grew louder with each step up she took, shuttered windows left open to let the chilly autumn air run through claustrophobic halls. She kept her head down as she walked, looking at her feet and surveying the path ahead through her lashes. Well-dressed courtiers moved about as though they had not a single care in the world, but this place made her nervous. She'd heard tales of the attacks Castle Montania had been forced to withstand long before she was taken on as a servant. No one was safe here, not really. Not so long as the Red King was on the throne. Yet still they strolled, lords and ladies all fancied up in their jewels and laces, laughing and chatting without fear. It was all a rouse. Everyone knew it but no one ever spoke of it.

  A group of men stepped out in front of her at an intersection. She drew up short and gasped, adjusting as quickly as she could to avoid spilling the decanter of wine she carried. Some of them turned to look at her and laughed, seeing her struggle. No apology was offered but comments about her lack of grace flowed freely.

  “Watch where you are walking.”

  The warning was given from a voice that rivaled the thunder in its low rumble. Against her better judgment, the serving girl lifted her head enough to consider the speaker. She immediately regretted her decision. He glowered at her, salt and pepper hair framing his weathered face in damp waves under a wide brimmed black hat with a long red feather sticking out the back. With a small gasp, she took an instinctive step back and lowered her head once more, eyes squeezing shut as though she could will him away.

  “F-forgive me, m'lord Merrik.”

  Light, musical laughter came from the far end of the hall and all attention was removed from her. She glanced up as well, glad to be out from under the Captain of Guard's cold stare. Two people were coming their way followed by a small retinue of ladies in waiting and squires. Prince Laidley and Princess Luella, both of them tall and regal, ignorant of anyone but each other as they shared another joke. The prince swept dark black hair from his face, bright blue eyes sparkling even in the gloom of the rainy day. Lifting a delicate hand, his younger sister giggled behind her fingers. Her long raven hair was tied up in ribbons and glinted purple in the brighter shafts of light coming in from the window. Watching the princess with envy, the serving girl shuffled against the wall and pressed her back against the stone. Both she and the group of men bowed their heads as the party passed without so much as a word of acknowledgment.

  She's so pretty, lamented the girl. Luella's dark honey skin and sapphire eyes made her feel like privy water in comparison. And Prince Laidley. Though he was much paler than his sister, he was just as beautiful, especially when he smiled, which was often when his father wasn't around.

  The serving girl straightened her bent knees and lifted her head once the group passed, then glanced at the men still beside her. Merrik's eyes were on the princess as well, hungry and determined. It made her turn to look at Luella once more. The older girl must have felt eyes on her; she glowered over her shoulder at the man who was old enough to be her father. Laidley followed his sister's gaze and, upon seeing Merrik, placed a hand on her back in a protective manner to lead her away. Merrik turned away, swallowing. His gaze turned to the serving girl and anger narrowed his eyes.

  “What are you still doing here? Is that the high king's wine?”

  “Yes, m'lord.”

  “Then bring it to the high king.”

  “Right away, m'lord!” Her high-pitched, breathy response brought out another round of laughter from the men as she scurried away. Don't let them get to you, she reminded herself. She had to get tougher skin if she was going to work in the capital. Her mother told her that as soon as she'd received word she'd been taken on. Otherwise, she'd be used, abused, and tossed away like yesterday's scraps.

  Her heart was racing as she made the familiar turns and climbed staircases, taking the same route she took every day to the king's chambers with his evening wine. Instead of drinking with his family or with the company of trusted advisers or courtiers, he always preferred to drink alone at night, in the office that was attached to his private apartments. Even the queen busied herself in her own quarters when it came to be later in the day. Such an odd family.

  “You there. Girl.”

  The whispered words were quick and urgent, and she stopped in her tracks just as she was about to turn down the hallways that would take her to her destination. As far as she could see, no one was about, not even a wandering guard. She was about to continue on when a head popped out from behind a door to a room she had never been inside herself. It was a boy no older than she with brilliant green eyes. The boy looked this way and that, scoping the halls, before fully showing himself. He looked the serving girl over before shoving his hands in his trousers pockets and frowning. “Is that for High King Tadhg?”

  Knowing how many enemies the royal family had, the serving girl turned to move the tray out of reach. “What business is it of yours?”

  The boy gave her a pitying look. “You're new here, aren't you? I haven't seen you before.”

  “I'm not so new as I wouldn't know a stranger for one when I see 'em.” Her eyes trailed over the girl in scrutiny. “Who are you?”

  The boy pointed a thumb behind him and nodded his head in the same direction. “I'm with the textiles merchant. We brought in some bolts for the queen to look over for her new drapes. Expensive ones, too. Can you imagine? I could feed myself for a year on what she wants to spend blocking the light from just one window.”

  Relaxing a touch, the serving girl's lips twitched upward. “I know.”

  “Absolutely disgusting, isn't it?”

  “Awful. And it's not like Caedia gets much light as it is. I think we're the rainiest country of all seven nations.”

  The boy smirked and crossed his arms. “Siness and Ibays can get quite rainy, too.”

  “Is that what I hear in your accent, Sinessian?” He shrugged and the serving girl narrowed her eyes. “Why did you stop me?”

  “I was on my way out of the meeting with the queen to find a place to relieve myself when I saw you. I knew you weren't coming for us and guessed where you were going.” He gave the serving girl that same pitying look. “I didn't want you to go see the high king with your boots laced all crooked like that.”

  The serving girl gasped. “What's wrong with my boots?” She bent to examine them and the stranger reached out for the tray, laughter on her lips.

  “Careful! You'll spill the wine.” He took t
he tray and inclined his head to the floor. “Now relace them. Silly girl, you could have spilled this and then where would you be?”

  “Thrown out the nearest window,” the serving girl whined. She crouched down, fingers working quickly at tugging the laces free to do them over again. She watched her hands, careful to make sure she didn't miss a hole and that it was finished with a proper bow. Only when the ends were tucked into both boots did she stand and look at the stranger. “Good?”

  “Much better.” The tray was passed back and the boy's eyes went to the loosened bodice. Without invitation, he reached forward and tied the top as tight as it had been before, he face burning. With a warning in his eyes, he fixed the serving girl with a patient gaze. “Never do that for any man you don't really want looking at you, especially this man.” He nodded as though content with his statement, then offered a friendly smile. “Now, best give the high king what he has coming to him.”

  “Thank you.” Gratitude for the stranger washed over her and she returned the smile. “Good day to you.”

  “To you as well.”

  Hurrying away, the serving girl rounded the corner and hastened for the tall double doors that led to Tadhg's rooms. Guards stood on either side like motionless statues as she approached. Neither of them paid her much attention; they were used to this daily routine and opened one of the doors for her without question. There was no need to even pause and she passed through without hesitation. Her eyes stayed trained on the door at the far end of the room, ignoring the lavish riches displayed in paintings and fabrics draped wherever the eye could see. The grandeur had lost its shine already. It was just another room to pass through. Another guard stood at the door to the office and once again, she was permitted entrance.

  High King Tadhg, a sturdy, muscular man with silver hair, sat behind a massive ornate desk in the middle of the room. The expansive windows behind him cast enough light so that they made him little more than a silhouette where he was hunched over the parchment on which he wrote. This room was hard not to take in. Shelves filled to the brim with books of all kinds lined two of the walls and climbed up high to the ceiling. Though she couldn't read herself, she knew there was much to get lost in between the spines of each and every tome.

  “You are late.”

  She checked herself and made quick work of setting the tray on a waiting table by Tadhg's desk. A single goblet made of hammered metal was all that had come with the wine and she filled it to the exact spot she knew the king preferred. Without looking up from his work, he took the goblet from her hand and drained it in a matter of seconds. The serving girl tried not to stare but turned her gaze to the floor, wide eyed. It must have been a bad day.

  “Another,” he commanded, his voice rough from the quick intake. She reached for the goblet at the same time his head lifted. Cold blue-green eyes took in her face and she froze for a moment, hand in mid-air. With an impatient growl, he repeated, “Another!”

  “I...” She stopped herself from apologizing, remembering what the cook had said about her accent. Instead of speaking, she snatched the goblet from Tadhg's hands. In her nervousness, she turned around so quickly that she knocked into the table and sent the wine carafe tumbling over onto its side. In horror, she watched the rich burgundy liquid pour from the faceted glass container and pool across the bottom of the tray. “Oh, dear Giver. Your Majesty, I'm so sorry!” She lifted her apron to soak up the wine, just waiting for the king's infamous temper to flare. “I'll hurry and get some more.”

  The chair scraped across the floor behind her. She sucked in a breath and hunched her shoulders, frozen and waiting for the beating that was sure to come. Nothing, and then the sound of a cough. It was thick, like someone blowing air bubbles through soup. Still holding her breath, the serving girl lifted her head and turned to look at the king. The horror that stood before her tore a scream from deep within her, loud and sharp, before she ran from the room.

  Her legs were beginning to wobble and her chest burn. Each breath in felt like it could be her last. The doleful church bell was calling to her, leading her through the thick forest and the cold, driving rain. Just a little farther. There was already clearing in the trees ahead. Just a little farther.

  Behind her, the thunder of the horses' hooves moved with a threatening speed in her direction.

  She’d been at the gate of the village just moments ago, just another dirty village boy, long blonde braid hidden under her cap. It was uncanny, the timing of the church bell and the cries of panic from the back of the village. She could hear what they were saying and it was enough to get her on her feet. The wail of the horn on the wind made her move even faster. The sound echoed around her before getting lost in the thick trees of the forest. She beat out a steady cadence with her pace, running for the safety of the church, avoiding the main pathway in hopes of losing any pursuers in the overgrowth. Sanctuary could be found within those stone walls and it was the only hope left.

  A low branch came out of nowhere, leaving a long bloody scratch on creamy skin. She tripped on an upturned root in her haste. Falling to the forest floor, she landed on her hands and knees, her cap dangling from an oak branch above her weary form. She wanted to sink into the muddy ground, to be swallowed up by the woody scent and the prickling pine needles, but she had to run.

  There was an unmistakable trembling of the ground and the young woman knew the horses were close. She had to get up or they would be upon her and all would be lost. With every last ounce of strength, she got to her feet and ran.

  A tall pine tree, all but hollowed out from years of rot, provided quick shelter. She ducked inside the thick trunk and huddled against the woody wall as one of the horses rushed past her. There were more coming, and still the church bell rang. She had to get there before the riders did or all would be lost. Sharp green eyes took in the texture of her shelter. She lifted her wrist to touch her soaking sleeve to the cut on her face and came away with a slight blood stain. There was only one option left now. A diversion was needed. The wood was dry enough so it should burn for a few minutes at least. If she was quick about it, the riders would notice and give pause.

  A silent prayer was sent up before her body was engulfed in blue and gold flames. She only had time to hear a cry of alarm before it all went dark and warm. In the next instant she was once more chilled by autumn rain and biting winds as the flames died around her. The thickest part of the forest was now behind her and she ran for the church again.

  The cobblestone under her feet was promising, even if it was sparse. It meant she was there. Her leather boots sloshed through a puddle and she was suddenly in the small open courtyard of the church, the bell ringing in her pulse. The horses were closer now, not held up long by the strange spark she’d started in the woods. She could hear the urgent cries of the riders pushing their mounts to their limits, but she could make it. She had to make it. The tall wooden doors of the old building opened heavily and she didn't stop moving until she was safely inside. As soon as the doors were closed, she leaned against them and looked at the two who had been waiting for her, wide-eyed.

  Breathless, she reported, “The high king is dead.”

  Chapter One

  The village healer ran as fast as he could through the castle hallways and up the stone stairways. It had been reported that High King Tadhg was ill. Racing into the king’s chambers the healer found him on the floor, surrounded by the queen, the prince and princess, and Tadhg’s most trusted advisers. When the queen saw the healer enter, her sobs became desperate. In her arms lay her husband, frozen forever with a slackened mouth and brows drawn together in what could only be an expression of pain. Where his eyes should have been were empty sockets. Blood was wet on his face from his eyes, nose, and mouth. Upon further inspection blood had also leaked from his ears to slick the hair at the back of his neck.

  “He was given Rabia powder,” the healer reported grimly after several long moments. “Ingested in small doses it kills with slow torture. It shuts down and decomposes organs, muscles, and bones one by one, setting blood to boil. To achieve results such as these, I can only imagine how much he was given at once.”