Since time is working against me and progress has been hellishly slow I'm giving another free chapter from my second book. So without further adieu here is Chapter 2 from
Hand of the Black Blade, Book 2 of the
Blades of Allura series. Enjoy.
Chapter Two
Nineteen
years prior to Galen’s defeat of Blackfur
“Aaeeeii!” the banshee wail echoed mercilessly through
the stone corridors of The Mountain, ancient stronghold of the dwarven people.
Outside of a thick set of ironwood doors that failed to mute the horrifying
scream, stomped a thick-set dwarf wringing his heavily calloused hands and often
staring with worry tinged gray eyes at the closed portal.
Toebal Deepbellow, newly appointed First Smith of the
Gold District, had been taken completely by surprise when the runner had showed
up at his smithy with word that his wife had gone into labor, but not nearly as
surprised as when he had found out that Solira was with child nine months ago
after he had agreed to wed her. The flame haired dwarf still harbored doubts
about the father of the child growing in his wife’s belly, especially as Solira
had become more and more withdrawn as the pregnancy progressed.
Being from a minor trade family, Toebul couldn’t believe
his luck when King Bluntpick asked him to take High Merchant Solira’s hand in
marriage. The offer of promotion combined with Solira’s large dowry had allowed
the young dwarf to look past the rumors of the High Merchant’s haunted past.
Now, Toebul was second guessing the greed and ambition that had led him down
this path.
A second pain-laced scream snapped Toebul from his dark
reverie and by the third scream, he was slamming a heavy shoulder against the
unyielding door. Despite the hearsay, Toebul had found his feeling’s for his
wife growing as they had spent time together and the screams ripped at his
heart and buried the doubts forming in his head.
“Let me in you pebble-licking bastards!” he cursed at the
impassable doors. “Let me see my wife!”
Again and again the heavily muscle smith threw himself
against the steadily weakening barrier until the stout timber frame buckled and
then cracked. With a roar of triumph, Toebul bowled through the broken doorway
and charged into the birthing chamber. Quickly scanning the room with grey eyes
framed in worry, Toebul took two quick strides towards Solira and her bloody
bed. The sight of the child laying in the High Merchant’s limp arms caused the
smith to stumble and fall to his knees.
“By the Scales, no,” he said in weak denial.
The babe lay there squalling his unhappiness at being
taken from his warm and secure haven, tiny fists balled and shaking in protest
towards the chambers low ceiling. But instead of the healthy pink of a newborn
child, the babe’s skin was the color of fresh smoke, and the soft down of his
crown was replaced by coarse black hair that bristled in all directions.
“I’m sorry, Toebul. I’m so so sorry…” Solira’s trembling
voice disappeared into soundless sobs.
His wife’s tear streaked cheeks and pleading eyes and no
small amount of his own shame were too much for Toebul to bear. The
grief-stricken dwarf tore his wide bladed dagger from the sheath at his waist
and lunged for the black eyed abomination.
Before Toebul could reach the babe, two priests that had
been attending Solira tackled the young dwarf while the remaining two moved to
block his path.
“Remember the pact, Master Smith,” pleaded one of the
priests before Toebul’s elbow sent her rolling to the side while clenching her
bleeding nose.
“I don’t give a damn about some ancient treaty!” Toebul
spat as he shrugged the remaining priest off in a desperate burst of strength,
and bound to his feet. “I’ll send that monster back to the Abyssal Plane and
his demon father!”
Tearing the babe’s swaddling blankets aside, Toebul
placed the point of his blade against the crying infant’s heart. He looked at
Solira to confirm his actions and the High Merchant dropped her eyes in shame,
but nodded her head in assent.
“Hold your hand, Toebul!” a commanding voice boomed from
the doorway.
“I cannot, sire,” Toebul apologized to his king without
taking his eyes from the mewling infant. “I won’t let this demon spawn stain my
family’s honor.”
“Remember the treaty, Toebul. Any demon-git must be
allowed to live until it reaches adulthood or the ones responsible for its
demise will cause a rift to open between our world and the Abyssal Plane.” King
Buhlrok Bluntpick spoke softly as he carefully made his way to the blacksmith.
“I don’t care about some damn rift!” Toebul snarled and
made to plunge the dagger down but suddenly the strength fled from his rapidly
numbing fingers and the weapon tumbled harmlessly to the ground.
“What…what is happening?’ the bewildered smith begged his
wife. Solira’s only response was a look of pure horror on her pale, moon-shaped
face.
King Bluntpick gently placed his hand on Toebul’s rounded
shoulder and removed his dagger from the smith’s back with the other. “I’m
sorry, Toebul, but while you have just your family to look out for; I have the
welfare of an entire kingdom to consider,” the king said before dropping the
blood-tainted dagger to the floor in distaste.
Gently the old king lowered Toebul’s body to the cold
stone floor, and softly slid his calloused hands over the smith’s sightless
eyes, closing them for the last time. “See to it he has a proper burial, and
that his family is duly compensated” Buhlrok ordered the wide-eyed priest who
had taken a tentative step towards the two. “He did not deserve to die like
this, but I will not risk the lives of the many for the few if they are of my
blood.”
“Yes, my King,” the elder priest bowed to Buhlrok and
motioned for another to come forward and help him with the body. “We will take
Toebul to the Shrine of the Scales and give him Ozra’s blessing before
returning him to Allura’s earthen embrace.”
A soft clapping issued from a shadowy corner of the room,
interrupting the doleful scene unfolding in the birthing chamber.
“How wonderful!” I get to watch the birth of my son and a
show,” Zarrix slipped from the shadows, long fingers clasped in delight and a
wicked smile pasted on his feline face. “It must be my birthday!”
Seize him!” King Buhlrok roared as he moved protectively
between his niece and the demon.
The king’s two bodyguards rushed the demon, axes held
high and shields held defensively before them. The lead dwarf swung his axe in an
overhead chop, seeking to remove the demonic threat in one powerful move.
Zarrix easily sidestepped the falling axe and responded with a vicious backhand
that caved in the guard’s steel helm and knocking the bodyguard to the floor
either dead or unconscious.
Seeing his partner so easily dispatched by the demon, the
remaining bodyguard was more cautious in his approach. His caution proved
pointless. Zarrix continued his mocking smile while his forked tongue flicked
out tauntingly, with the speed of a striking snake the demon lord’s barbed tail
lashed and removed the dwarf’s windpipe. With eyes wide in surprise the
bodyguard dropped his weapons and futilely tried to hold together his torn
throat, in seconds he joined his comrade.
“Such fuss over a farther wanting to see his new born son,”
Zarrix quipped, while he wiped his tail on the fallen bodyguard’s tunic.
“I may not be able to kill the babe, demon, but there’s
no pact against separating your black soul from its twisted body,” Buhlrok
threatened as he placed himself between Zarrix and his niece. In the dwarven
king’s hands rested the shaft of his trademark two-handed hammer, his grim
visage reflected in the polished adamantium head of the fabled weapon as he
took a menacing step towards Zarrix.
The demon lord eyed the shining weapon with unease. All
the denizens of the Infernal Realms feared Justice, a legendary weapon gifted
to the dwarven people by Ozra in the early days of creation. It was said that
the hammer in the hands of a trueborn king was unbeatable and Zarrix knew more
than a few demons that had met their end going against the holy weapon.
“Very well, Bluntpick,” Zarrix reluctantly surrendered.
“I’ll leave your dirty little rabbit hole of a kingdom, but remember the
treaty, rockborn. My son is to be cared for until his eighteenth birthday and
given free passage to seek out his kin.”
“I haven’t forgotten the bloody pact, demon, as foul as
it may be, you can be assured that the dwarves of the Mountain will honor it,”
Buhlrok promised though his hard grey eyes revealed how he truly felt about the
squalling bundle laying in his niece’s lap.
Zarrix began to mutter lines of spidery words while
rapidly twisting his long finger in obscure positions with each clicking
syllable. Finally, a circle of shadow appeared beside the demon lord. Zarrix
had slipped halfway into the portal when he stopped and turned back towards the
watching dwarves.
“Oh sweetheart, make sure you take care of our little
bundle of joy,” Zarrix blew Solira a kiss and gave the horrified woman a
salacious wink before stepping through the shadow portal.
The
inky blackness snapped out of existence like a shattered pane of glass. Infuriated
by the demon lord’s callousness, Buhlrok had charged Zarrix with Judgment held
high, but had to spin away at the last second to avoid the fouls shards. Behind
him the remaining priests had thrown themselves over Solira and the babe,
grunting in pain as the residual shadow magic pierced their unarmored backs.
Forcing
her way between the two dwarves lying atop her, Solira screamed her denial at
her uncle, brown eyes wide in fear and indignation at being forced to care for
the child. “I will not raise this bastard, uncle!”
I’m
sorry, but the choice is not yours, my poor Solira. The treaty with the demon
lords is clear and unbreakable.” Buhlrok said, his words heavy with regret.
“I
will not!” Solira shouted. “I’ll will
end my life before I will raise a demon spawn!”
With
the speed and ferocity of a cornered badger, the High Merchant’s right arm
lashed out, catching the closest priest by surprise. With a savage twist she
tore the dagger from the stunned dwarf’s belt and placed it against her
trembling throat.
“Stay back, uncle,” she
warned as Buhlrock moved towards her. “I swear by Ozra’s beard I’ll slit my
throat, your precious pact be damned.”
Now, Solira, I know what
I am asking of you is a tremendous burden, but think of your family, your
friends, by the Scales the entire realm,” the king pleaded while he tried to
decide whether or not he could reach his niece before the blade cut to deep. “I
promise as soon as the child is off the teat we will find him a nanny and you
can go back to living your life. Wouldn’t you like to take your place once
again on the council? To get back to your family? I know they miss you back in
the hall.”
Buhlrok tried to keep a
stream of calming ideas flowing towards his niece as he crept slowly closer. As
the king’s words entered Solira’s despair clouded mind she absorbed what he was
saying, but instead of burning away the darkness, Buhlrok’s attempts only wrapped
the bands of sorrow tighter around her aching heart. The former High Merchant
would never again be respected by her peers, and no respectable male would want
the soiled woman to be their mate. Solira knew that her future would be bleak
and blanketed in loneliness which she couldn’t bear the thought of, but she
also knew that her uncle would stop any attempts she made to end her life right
now. Reluctantly she released the dagger into Buhlrok’s hand. Regret etched
plainly on her face.
“Thank
you, Solira. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but it was the right one.” the
king stated, gently taking his niece’s hands into his.
“You
will stand by me, uncle?” Solira asked, and brown eyes locked with grey as the
two matched wills. It was the king who looked away.
“Of
course, Solira, of course,” he promised but Solira knew the words were as
hollow as his promises.
Two
nights later King Bluntpick burst into Solira’s chambers unannounced. His thick
brow knitted together in fury while a thunderstorm gathered behind his
slate-grey eyes.
“By the Scales, what happened in
here? I stated that Solira wasn’t to be left unattended,” the king roared as he
stomped through the sitting chamber and into his niece’s bedroom. He glared
balefully at Solira’s cooling corpse dangling from an oak rafter. “Who was on
watch?”
The
guardsmen looked nervously at one another and then stared blankly at the stone
walls, anything to avoid the gaze of their king that they had failed. Angrily
Buhlrok spun on his heels away from the hanging body of his niece and slowly
marched down the line of fidgeting dwarves, staring intently at each one before
moving on to the next in line. When no one took credit for the slip up,
Buhlrok’s wrath faded away and his broad shoulders slumped heavily.
The
old dwarf gave a loud sigh of resignation and turned back to watch his niece
with sad eyes as she spun in slow circles. Time reversed itself and Buhlrok no
longer saw the swollen, blackened face with bulging eyes, but the round cherub
face of a ten year old Solira. The memory of when he had taught his niece the
best place to find the plumpest and juiciest mushrooms, rose like a joyful
bubble through the murky depths of his broken heart. Slowly at first and then
more rapidly memories of Solira burst forth and slowly a small smile pulled at
the corner of the king’s mouth. He had thought that Solira might be the one to
replace him when the time came for him to step down, but now those hopes were
gone, replaced by a selfish creature bent on its own perverse desires.
A
cough brought the king from his mourning. “It’s of no matter now,” he mumbled
and then once again addressed his guards as their monarch.
“Captain
Mowvin, fetch all the wet nurses you can find, and let us pray the little
bastard will take to a teat. If not…” King Buhlrok let the unspoken threat
hang.
The
dwarven king glanced at the gray skinned babe and chills danced the length of
his spine. The babe had quieted and his soulless black eyes were now staring
unblinking at Buhlrok.
“Lord
of the Scales watch over us,” King Buhlrok Bluntpick prayed under his breath.
