All content Copyright 2007, Michelle Gregory. Please do not copy.
(You can also download a sample for your Kindle here.)
Prologue
ARATHOR’S HEART THUNDERED AS HE SWUNG ASTRIDE HIS BLACK stallion and strained his eyes for any movement on the road in front of him. It was a moonless night, but he knew King Rahnak’s spies were watching him; he’d fought off three of them in Felonia. He couldn’t risk engaging anyone in a sword fight again. Speed and cunning were his only protection now.
Before leading his horse out of the ash grove, he unwrapped the bundle he’d fought so fiercely to protect the night before. Aiden was fast asleep, swaddled in a blue woolen blanket, completely unaware of the danger surrounding him.
Arathor grimaced.
“How can I give you up?” he whispered.
He clapped his heels to the horse’s flanks. Telegar’s strong, confident gait thundered beneath him as they sped towards the next town. Suddenly, his mount let out a shrill whinny, and the hair on Arathor’s neck bristled. He looked behind him, taking in the ground they’d just covered.
Five hooded riders, black cloaks flying behind them, were closing in on them.
Fighting his alarm, Arathor shouted the ancient words his father had taught him: “Kel-lema menan-dai kah-gish tehai.”
In a split second, a wall of searing red flames, twice Arathor’s height, sprang up behind him and engulfed his pursuers. Their tortured screams echoed in his ears as he urged the stallion forward.
******************
Kale lit a candle on his way to answer the urgent knocking. Before he got to the door, his wife Elisa was beside him. When he opened the door, they both drew in a quick breath. Although the man’s face was hidden, Kale recognized him at once. No one else had Arathor’s commanding stature.
“What…?” Kale asked.
Arathor stamped the mud from his boots before handing Elisa a bundle. He sat at the table and pulled back his hood. The pale light couldn’t hide the concern in his face.
Elisa parted the wool blanket. Her eyes grew larger and she covered her mouth. “Is this…who I think it is?”
“He’s in danger,” Arathor said. “Will you raise him as your own?”
“Why us?” Kale asked.
Arathor looked at him, but his intense dark eyes were more than Kale could bear. “You’ve been my smith for many years now and I know I can trust you.”
Kale had always lived a quiet, sheltered life. Now Arathor was asking him to risk his security and Elisa’s to take in the boy. All the reasons for not doing this flew through his mind in a heartbeat. The only argument he could stammer was, “I’m sure there’s someone else more suited for the task.”
Arathor’s face tightened.
“Then I have no choice?” Kale asked.
Arathor rubbed his brow and his face took on the haggard features of a warrior too long in battle. “No, I’d never force this on you.” He shifted his weight. “But I need an answer now.”
Kale glanced at his wife. Elisa never asked for much, but her eyes were pleading with him now. The haunting sadness in her face extinguished his arguments.
“All right, we’ll do what you ask.”
Arathor glanced at the door, as if expecting someone to burst through it at any moment. “I have to warn you—if you take him in, you’ll be in as much danger as he is.”
Kale tried to stifle his mounting fear. “We’ll move away as soon as we can.”
Arathor smiled grimly and handed Kale a rolled parchment. “You can tell him he was adopted, but nothing more. When he’s twenty-one, give him this letter.” He pulled up his hood and put a hand on the smith’s shoulder. “Kale, I know you can do this.”
Arathor walked towards the door and then stopped. “There’s one more thing.” He pulled a battered scabbard out of his cloak. The flickering candle light danced on the sword’s hilt.
“After he reads the scroll, give him this. It may help him accept the truth.”
Grief lined his face as he put his hand on the child’s head and he kissed his brow. “Grow well, Aiden.” He bowed to the couple and went out into the night.
Elisa looked at her husband and smiled. “I never thought this day would come.”
“A son,” Kale said, half hearing his wife.
How will I be able to do this? he wondered.
Elisa moved closer to Kale and handed him the child. “Aiden.”
Kale put his fingers to her lips and lowered his voice. “We can never speak that word again.”
The boy needed a strong name, one that would give him the courage he needed to face his destiny, yet not reveal the nature of his birth. After a long silence Kale said, “His name will be Kieran.”
Chapter 1
Twenty years later…
KIERAN WOKE UP, HIS HEART RACING AND HIS CLOTHES DRENCHED IN sweat. It wasn’t unusual for him to have strange dreams, but this one had been the most terrifying of all.
He’d been walking with his mother and father near the sea. Suddenly, a sword sprang from the waves and flew into his hand. Elisa’s face froze in horror and Kale stepped in to defend her. Before Kieran could stop himself, he’d killed both of them. Their blood covered the sword and his cries of despair woke him up.
Still shaken, Kieran walked to the kitchen and washed his face. Normally he would have eaten a quick breakfast, but the dream had stolen his appetite. Frustrated, he returned to his room, put on a clean shirt, and headed for town.
With his long stride, it took him only a few minutes to walk from his home near the shore to the smithy near the center of Pent. On his way, he passed several low-roofed cottages, each with a small garden plot and racks of drying whitefish. Turning to the left, he noticed the familiar odor of wet clay coming from Jelcahd’s pottery shop, and the mouth-watering aroma of fresh bread coming from Helgar’s bakery. The sun was just coming up as he jumped over the fence around the cooper’s yard and walked into his father’s smithy.
Kieran had learned his father’s trade quickly. By the time he was seventeen, people said he was the best smith in northern Teleria. While Kale forged the ordinary, Kieran preferred embellishing the ordinary and creating the extraordinary. When he walked through Pent, he could see his handiwork—ornate door handles, hinges with intricate flower motifs, and gates that looked like they could grace the castle at Korisan.
Today he had to settle for making ladles.
Walking past the racks of tools, he pulled off his shirt and was about to put on his leather tunic when he heard a disturbance. A cluster of unmarried women had gathered at the door. They came every day and tried to get his attention. Despite their obvious beauty, none of them caught his eye. There was only one woman for him. He just had to find her again.
Now Kieran turned his back on them and quickly put on his tunic.
When his father joined him, Kieran donned his leather apron and stoked the fire.
“Do you have that order ready for the cooper?” Kale asked.
“It’s over in the corner,” Kieran said, pointing to a pile of iron barrel hoops. “I made two extra for the children.”
Kieran loved having children in the shop. Kale was always worried that one of them might get hurt, but Kieran invited them in anyway. He enjoyed making things for them, and their favorite toys were the iron hoops. When the children raced the hoops in the street, Kieran always stopped to watch. This had been his favorite game as a child and the only game where he could beat his cousin.
As if on cue, his cousin entered the shop and stood to one side.
“I see your adoring throng is here today,” Gilrain said.
“I’m sure you’ll be happy to take them off my hands,” Kieran muttered.
“Maybe later. What are you working on today?”
“Are you offering to help?”
If Gilrain saw that Kieran was annoyed, he ignored it. “Hunting’s been slow this week. I thought you could use a hand.”
Gilrain was the best archer in the area, usually bringing home the largest deer and wild boar. Although he hadn’t taken up sword smithing like his father, he knew how to keep the fire going, and was an excellent striker. It was too bad he was so unreliable.
“I’m working on ladles, for Lord Destra’s cook.”
While Gilrain moved over to the fire, Kieran picked out an iron bar and brought it to the anvil. Using a hammer and chisel, he cut the bar to the proper length and then began the process of heating and hammering the metal, stretching out the handle, and forming a small bowl. When he’d finished shaping and smoothing it, he repeatedly plunged it into the slack tub to harden it.
Kieran looked up to ask Gilrain to get another tool. Gilrain was in the corner, flirting with a blonde who’d made it past the door.
Kale shook his head.
Kieran swore under his breath.
Gilrain’s careless attitude toward finishing his work was one of his least annoying traits. He charged headlong into fights without thinking, was openly affectionate with unmarried women, and gambled at dice and cards whenever he had the chance.
Still irritated, Kieran turned his attention to the next ladle and imagined it was Gilrain.
While he worked, a crowd started to gather inside the shop. It wasn’t unusual for people to meet in the smithy to discuss the latest news, and Kieran had learned to keep one ear on the banter while he worked. This afternoon they were heatedly discussing the way Lord Destra had treated a man who couldn’t pay his taxes.
“I heard he had the man and his whole family sent to the dungeon in Korisan.”
Gilrain abandoned the blonde and moved closer to the discussion.
“That’s the last time we’ll see Becknar.”
Gilrain looked over at Kieran. “Somebody should do something.”
Why was Gilrain looking at him that way? Kieran walked to the forge and waited for the bowl of the ladle to reheat.
His blood boiled every time he heard about the way Lord Destra mistreated the townspeople. It seemed the nobility felt it was their sole purpose in life to make everyone in Teleria miserable. They charged too much for taxes, demanded that the peasants produce superior products—despite the poor soil and scarcity of material—and when foreign marauders or gangs roamed through the towns, they did nothing to stop them, despite having legions of soldiers at their command.
Kieran had never spoken of rebellion himself; his father had taught him to avoid trouble. But if he were a lord or a king, he would use his position to help people. Then he’d remind himself that he was just a blacksmith, and all he wanted in life was to have his own smithy, marry, and have a dozen children.
“You know Rahnak set up all the liege lords in Teleria,” someone said. “If you cross them, you’re crossing him.”
“I think it’s about time someone crossed him.”
When Kieran returned to the anvil, Gilrain nudged his arm. “Are
you paying attention to this?” he asked.
“It’s nothing new.”
Gilrain took the hammer out of Kieran’s hand.
Kieran moved to take it back. “Some of us have work to do.”
Gilrain let go and lowered his voice. “You could do something.”
Kieran continued to pound at the metal. “If you want swords for a revolt, go talk to your father. I already have too much work to do.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Kieran stopped in mid-swing. “Then what did you mean?”
“They haven’t told you yet?”
Kieran grabbed Gilrain’s arm to take him outside. Gilrain tried to wrench himself away but Kieran persisted. When they were outside, Gilrain broke free of Kieran’s iron grip.
“What are you talking about?” Kieran asked.
Gilrain looked confused and then started to chuckle. “How ironic. All these years and they never told you who you really are.”
(You can also download a sample for your Kindle here.)
Prologue
ARATHOR’S HEART THUNDERED AS HE SWUNG ASTRIDE HIS BLACK stallion and strained his eyes for any movement on the road in front of him. It was a moonless night, but he knew King Rahnak’s spies were watching him; he’d fought off three of them in Felonia. He couldn’t risk engaging anyone in a sword fight again. Speed and cunning were his only protection now.
Before leading his horse out of the ash grove, he unwrapped the bundle he’d fought so fiercely to protect the night before. Aiden was fast asleep, swaddled in a blue woolen blanket, completely unaware of the danger surrounding him.
Arathor grimaced.
“How can I give you up?” he whispered.
He clapped his heels to the horse’s flanks. Telegar’s strong, confident gait thundered beneath him as they sped towards the next town. Suddenly, his mount let out a shrill whinny, and the hair on Arathor’s neck bristled. He looked behind him, taking in the ground they’d just covered.
Five hooded riders, black cloaks flying behind them, were closing in on them.
Fighting his alarm, Arathor shouted the ancient words his father had taught him: “Kel-lema menan-dai kah-gish tehai.”
In a split second, a wall of searing red flames, twice Arathor’s height, sprang up behind him and engulfed his pursuers. Their tortured screams echoed in his ears as he urged the stallion forward.
******************
Kale lit a candle on his way to answer the urgent knocking. Before he got to the door, his wife Elisa was beside him. When he opened the door, they both drew in a quick breath. Although the man’s face was hidden, Kale recognized him at once. No one else had Arathor’s commanding stature.
“What…?” Kale asked.
Arathor stamped the mud from his boots before handing Elisa a bundle. He sat at the table and pulled back his hood. The pale light couldn’t hide the concern in his face.
Elisa parted the wool blanket. Her eyes grew larger and she covered her mouth. “Is this…who I think it is?”
“He’s in danger,” Arathor said. “Will you raise him as your own?”
“Why us?” Kale asked.
Arathor looked at him, but his intense dark eyes were more than Kale could bear. “You’ve been my smith for many years now and I know I can trust you.”
Kale had always lived a quiet, sheltered life. Now Arathor was asking him to risk his security and Elisa’s to take in the boy. All the reasons for not doing this flew through his mind in a heartbeat. The only argument he could stammer was, “I’m sure there’s someone else more suited for the task.”
Arathor’s face tightened.
“Then I have no choice?” Kale asked.
Arathor rubbed his brow and his face took on the haggard features of a warrior too long in battle. “No, I’d never force this on you.” He shifted his weight. “But I need an answer now.”
Kale glanced at his wife. Elisa never asked for much, but her eyes were pleading with him now. The haunting sadness in her face extinguished his arguments.
“All right, we’ll do what you ask.”
Arathor glanced at the door, as if expecting someone to burst through it at any moment. “I have to warn you—if you take him in, you’ll be in as much danger as he is.”
Kale tried to stifle his mounting fear. “We’ll move away as soon as we can.”
Arathor smiled grimly and handed Kale a rolled parchment. “You can tell him he was adopted, but nothing more. When he’s twenty-one, give him this letter.” He pulled up his hood and put a hand on the smith’s shoulder. “Kale, I know you can do this.”
Arathor walked towards the door and then stopped. “There’s one more thing.” He pulled a battered scabbard out of his cloak. The flickering candle light danced on the sword’s hilt.
“After he reads the scroll, give him this. It may help him accept the truth.”
Grief lined his face as he put his hand on the child’s head and he kissed his brow. “Grow well, Aiden.” He bowed to the couple and went out into the night.
Elisa looked at her husband and smiled. “I never thought this day would come.”
“A son,” Kale said, half hearing his wife.
How will I be able to do this? he wondered.
Elisa moved closer to Kale and handed him the child. “Aiden.”
Kale put his fingers to her lips and lowered his voice. “We can never speak that word again.”
The boy needed a strong name, one that would give him the courage he needed to face his destiny, yet not reveal the nature of his birth. After a long silence Kale said, “His name will be Kieran.”
Chapter 1
Twenty years later…
KIERAN WOKE UP, HIS HEART RACING AND HIS CLOTHES DRENCHED IN sweat. It wasn’t unusual for him to have strange dreams, but this one had been the most terrifying of all.
He’d been walking with his mother and father near the sea. Suddenly, a sword sprang from the waves and flew into his hand. Elisa’s face froze in horror and Kale stepped in to defend her. Before Kieran could stop himself, he’d killed both of them. Their blood covered the sword and his cries of despair woke him up.
Still shaken, Kieran walked to the kitchen and washed his face. Normally he would have eaten a quick breakfast, but the dream had stolen his appetite. Frustrated, he returned to his room, put on a clean shirt, and headed for town.
With his long stride, it took him only a few minutes to walk from his home near the shore to the smithy near the center of Pent. On his way, he passed several low-roofed cottages, each with a small garden plot and racks of drying whitefish. Turning to the left, he noticed the familiar odor of wet clay coming from Jelcahd’s pottery shop, and the mouth-watering aroma of fresh bread coming from Helgar’s bakery. The sun was just coming up as he jumped over the fence around the cooper’s yard and walked into his father’s smithy.
Kieran had learned his father’s trade quickly. By the time he was seventeen, people said he was the best smith in northern Teleria. While Kale forged the ordinary, Kieran preferred embellishing the ordinary and creating the extraordinary. When he walked through Pent, he could see his handiwork—ornate door handles, hinges with intricate flower motifs, and gates that looked like they could grace the castle at Korisan.
Today he had to settle for making ladles.
Walking past the racks of tools, he pulled off his shirt and was about to put on his leather tunic when he heard a disturbance. A cluster of unmarried women had gathered at the door. They came every day and tried to get his attention. Despite their obvious beauty, none of them caught his eye. There was only one woman for him. He just had to find her again.
Now Kieran turned his back on them and quickly put on his tunic.
When his father joined him, Kieran donned his leather apron and stoked the fire.
“Do you have that order ready for the cooper?” Kale asked.
“It’s over in the corner,” Kieran said, pointing to a pile of iron barrel hoops. “I made two extra for the children.”
Kieran loved having children in the shop. Kale was always worried that one of them might get hurt, but Kieran invited them in anyway. He enjoyed making things for them, and their favorite toys were the iron hoops. When the children raced the hoops in the street, Kieran always stopped to watch. This had been his favorite game as a child and the only game where he could beat his cousin.
As if on cue, his cousin entered the shop and stood to one side.
“I see your adoring throng is here today,” Gilrain said.
“I’m sure you’ll be happy to take them off my hands,” Kieran muttered.
“Maybe later. What are you working on today?”
“Are you offering to help?”
If Gilrain saw that Kieran was annoyed, he ignored it. “Hunting’s been slow this week. I thought you could use a hand.”
Gilrain was the best archer in the area, usually bringing home the largest deer and wild boar. Although he hadn’t taken up sword smithing like his father, he knew how to keep the fire going, and was an excellent striker. It was too bad he was so unreliable.
“I’m working on ladles, for Lord Destra’s cook.”
While Gilrain moved over to the fire, Kieran picked out an iron bar and brought it to the anvil. Using a hammer and chisel, he cut the bar to the proper length and then began the process of heating and hammering the metal, stretching out the handle, and forming a small bowl. When he’d finished shaping and smoothing it, he repeatedly plunged it into the slack tub to harden it.
Kieran looked up to ask Gilrain to get another tool. Gilrain was in the corner, flirting with a blonde who’d made it past the door.
Kale shook his head.
Kieran swore under his breath.
Gilrain’s careless attitude toward finishing his work was one of his least annoying traits. He charged headlong into fights without thinking, was openly affectionate with unmarried women, and gambled at dice and cards whenever he had the chance.
Still irritated, Kieran turned his attention to the next ladle and imagined it was Gilrain.
While he worked, a crowd started to gather inside the shop. It wasn’t unusual for people to meet in the smithy to discuss the latest news, and Kieran had learned to keep one ear on the banter while he worked. This afternoon they were heatedly discussing the way Lord Destra had treated a man who couldn’t pay his taxes.
“I heard he had the man and his whole family sent to the dungeon in Korisan.”
Gilrain abandoned the blonde and moved closer to the discussion.
“That’s the last time we’ll see Becknar.”
Gilrain looked over at Kieran. “Somebody should do something.”
Why was Gilrain looking at him that way? Kieran walked to the forge and waited for the bowl of the ladle to reheat.
His blood boiled every time he heard about the way Lord Destra mistreated the townspeople. It seemed the nobility felt it was their sole purpose in life to make everyone in Teleria miserable. They charged too much for taxes, demanded that the peasants produce superior products—despite the poor soil and scarcity of material—and when foreign marauders or gangs roamed through the towns, they did nothing to stop them, despite having legions of soldiers at their command.
Kieran had never spoken of rebellion himself; his father had taught him to avoid trouble. But if he were a lord or a king, he would use his position to help people. Then he’d remind himself that he was just a blacksmith, and all he wanted in life was to have his own smithy, marry, and have a dozen children.
“You know Rahnak set up all the liege lords in Teleria,” someone said. “If you cross them, you’re crossing him.”
“I think it’s about time someone crossed him.”
When Kieran returned to the anvil, Gilrain nudged his arm. “Are
you paying attention to this?” he asked.
“It’s nothing new.”
Gilrain took the hammer out of Kieran’s hand.
Kieran moved to take it back. “Some of us have work to do.”
Gilrain let go and lowered his voice. “You could do something.”
Kieran continued to pound at the metal. “If you want swords for a revolt, go talk to your father. I already have too much work to do.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Kieran stopped in mid-swing. “Then what did you mean?”
“They haven’t told you yet?”
Kieran grabbed Gilrain’s arm to take him outside. Gilrain tried to wrench himself away but Kieran persisted. When they were outside, Gilrain broke free of Kieran’s iron grip.
“What are you talking about?” Kieran asked.
Gilrain looked confused and then started to chuckle. “How ironic. All these years and they never told you who you really are.”