Lords of War: Tower of Ancients
Book 1
Jaeger Mitchells
Lucian Knight
Copyright © 2020 by Jaeger Mitchells & Lucian Knight
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent of the author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real, except where noted and authorized.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Where To Find And Support Us
About The Authors
More Novels From
About The Community
Chapter One
Thundering echoes from four pairs of hobnailed boots reverberated throughout the long, dark hallways. The sound was rhythmic, even melodic, to the ears of those who knew how to appreciate discipline.
An almost perfect darkness accompanied us, the only light being the flickering of long, thick candles stationed at three-meter intervals along the hall. There were no windows, nor would there ever be, as light could be considered a Vampire's greatest nuisance, though contrary to popular opinion, it didn’t do much more than irritate our eyes and skin.
We strode proudly toward the massive wooden door that awaited at the far end. The thick, polished plate armor didn’t allow us to walk four abreast; instead, we marched in two rows of two, like good little soldiers.
Half-plate armor hung from our bodies, with great swords sheathed across our backs in half-leather scabbards adorned with strands of infused blood. On our left arm, we each carried small round bucklers, just long enough to conceal a dagger inside. The spikes of dark steel were almost as vicious as the swords.
A long black cape cascaded down my back, embroidered with gold and red silk. Shiny silver broaches kept the two ends affixed to my cuirass. Bright red pauldrons adorned with spikes contrasted sharply against my black breastplate and greaves. A broad, red leather belt with a skull-shaped buckle held a ceremonial dirk over a studded leather skirt, or Pteruge as it was called. Red capes covered the backs of my companions, their armor a burnished gray.
With each step we took, the grating of metal on metal and metal on stone became more pronounced. It almost sounded like a death procession.
“Why the hell would he call us in so late?” asked the shortest in our group. He wasn’t small by any standard, just shorter than the rest of us, which again didn’t say much when you towered above the rest at seven feet.
“I have no idea,” I replied for the third time. “He didn’t say much, just as I told you twice already. You should know as much not to ask dumb questions, Slay,” I replied, trying to rein in my frustration as much as possible. I disliked late summons that came out of nowhere more than anything, especially this deep underground. They never boded well, especially over the past couple of decades.
Slayer frowned at my response, obviously hoping for a different reply and more information. He was about to ask another stupid question, but his companion threw an elbow into his ribs, forcing out a grunt and causing him, thankfully, to shut up. The pain wasn’t anything special, I knew as much, but it served its purpose.
“Stalk! What the hell?” Slayer wheezed, “Why’d you hit me?”
The other man didn't respond and kept up the pace behind us.
“Shut up and follow,” I ordered without breaking my stride or glancing backward.
“One of these days,” Slayer muttered as he hopped forwards, hurrying to get back into formation. He knew his loud mouth might just be the death of him, but we all knew he couldn't help it. Slayer just had to talk. A lot.
We stopped in front of the massive wooden door just as he caught up with us. Ornate carvings decorated the face of the massive entrance, while spikes and all kinds of weapons were carved into the frame. It was far too heavy for an ordinary man to open, but then again, I was no ordinary man.
“Don't forget your manners,” I whispered one last time before shouldering the massive door open wide. It probably weighed over five-hundred pounds, but I barely even paused. We entered the auditorium with its long, tiered steps and marched down to the center of the pit. It stunk to high heavens, but these old fools were so used to it that they couldn’t distinguish life from death anymore. Their disease filled bodies were barely able to function, despite the large quantities of blood they drank every night.
We knelt as one, our fists pressed to the ground, and kept our eyes on the stone floor. I couldn’t help but turn my head slightly to keep the far end in my peripheral vision. The steady hum of hushed conversation and whispers died out at the sight of four battle-ready warriors, especially when led by me, the strongest Vampire Warlord, Raziel.
The walls were arrayed with long benches as recliners bedecked the top level. Atop these sprawled a wealth of men and women, scantily clad, and involved in all manner of lecherous activities. I was used to their orgies and mauling, but that didn’t make it any easier on my eyes. Quite the opposite. Over time, it bothered me more and more.
Half-empty goblets of blood and wine were strewn about the floor. Paintings and tapestries of lush colored fabrics decorated the walls and hung behind the lavish sitting areas. It almost looked like a circus.
A single, sharp clap broke the ensuing silence, only to be followed by the echo of footsteps drawing near. A figure floated down the large flight of stairs, shrouded in almost complete darkness. He was followed by two young women whom I knew well enough to be disgusted by their presence.
The man wore a fine silken robe, red as crimson, and silken pants,
black as night. Long white hair concealed most of a deformed and rotting face topping a body corded with lean muscle. A wicked smile protruded beneath his white mane as he came ever nearer.
Both women wore white mesh robes that hugged their curves perfectly, yet hung from their sides, leaving nothing to the imagination. Raven-black hair flowed down their shoulders and over their breasts, almost reaching their hips.
“Ever the sight for sore eyes, aren’t they?” the man laughed, coming to a halt not five feet from me. I could smell the stench of rotten blood smeared all over his body. “Which one do you like more, Raziel? Draiana, or Fraya?”
He squinted his eyes at me, leaning in close enough to touch me. I closed my eyes and breathed steadily, seeking balance and composure, not letting the ancient provoke me. This was neither the time, nor the place.
“I wouldn’t dare distinguish between the Queens, my Lord,” I replied, trying to sound earnest. He knew very well what I thought about him and all the scum in this underground palace, but he tolerated me more than anyone else. After all, the respect was very much earned.
“Good choice of words, Raziel. Ever the smart one among your group of—vagabonds. All you’re good for is killing people and taking out the trash who disobey. Am I right?” the man shouted mockingly to the crowd, who jeered in response. Their blood-thirsty thoughts could be plucked from the air. I clenched my fists with a force that almost bent my metal gauntlets out of shape, but managed to recover quickly.
“Of course, King Lefrand. You know best,” I managed to reply, barely restraining my loathing. The hatred seethed within me. One day it would burst free, causing me to do something reckless, something stupid, something that would get me and my companions killed. However, today wouldn’t be that day.
“Right, right,” Lefrand replied, his voice mocking everything I was and turned towards his Queens, taking a breast of each woman in his hands and squeezed, drawing blood with his long, sharp nails. Fraya and Draiana moaned as he licked the blood off their pale, white skin and twisted their nipples.
I almost flinched at the disrespect he showed us and at his vulgar display of power. I served him for hundreds of years and still, every time he called for me, the King played his stupid little mind games. When would he understand that he was nothing more than his title, his crown?
“Why are we here, my King?” I grated, wanting to jump up and strangle the old, festering fool. Every pair of eyes snapped to me, including the King’s, who stopped indulging himself with his Queens’ blood. The two women protested, revealing even more of their already mostly naked bodies as they strolled to an obscenely gaudy throne, made for three.
“Oh, right. I almost forgot,” he smirked, a wolfish grin on his face. “There is a situation with the Treflid States,” Lefrand finally replied. “Supposedly, they are working on a secret project that could turn the tide in their feeble resistance to our kind.”
“A secret project?” I asked, surprised by such an offer, or rather marching order. A renewed smile appeared on the King's face as he crouched beside me.
“Yes, Raziel. They’re said to have developed a way to kill our kind with much ease. I want to take their land from them so we can finally move past the No Man’s Lands.”
The King's face went blank as he slowly tilted my face up to look him in the eyes.
“What—?”
“Take care of it, Warlord,” he whispered, his putrid breath causing me to vomit in the back of my throat. I felt Stalker tense behind me, ready to spring up and attack the King, I felt his anger boiling through our bond, but Slayer put his hand on Stalker’s clenched fist, squeezing it tightly. Both men endured the disrespect shown both to me and our war band.
“When do we leave?” I finally managed to choke out through gritted teeth. The veins on my arms and forehead stood out clearly in the dimly lit throne room, I was sure of it.
“In the morning. You’re supposed to cross the No Man’s Lands and proceed through the Southern part of their border and move to the city of Gorbiz, Their capital.”
“I see. But we’ve never ventured so far. The furthest I’ve gone is to defend our borders.”
“Here, take this map,” he hissed, throwing a piece of parchment in my face. “Now leave. I have much more important matters to attend to,” Lefrand commanded. He snapped his fingers and used his power to start a dull ache in our bones that steadily grew until we obeyed his will and stood. Finally, he turned his back to us and strode off to sit with his Queens who were already wet and hungrily waiting for him.
Four gauntlets slammed against our breastplates, acknowledging the order. We stood as one, faced towards the entrance, and strode out. I pushed the door shut, slamming the massive slab closed behind us with more force than I intended, but I couldn’t do anything about it now.
The shame and hatred I felt at that moment were almost as bad as the last time he insulted me in front of the other Warlords. Still, I was grateful we managed to leave that pit of vipers with our lives. No, vipers weren’t vicious enough when you compared them to this bastard. These snakes were ruining the kingdom and the lives of everyone I cared for. Snakes or vipers, or whatever they were with a hydra at their head representing Lefrand and the Queens.
The same, perfect echo of our boots slamming down against the cold, hard stone reverberated all the way back to the exit. No one spoke a word until we finally left the mile-long corridor behind us and once again breathed fresh air. Even the walls had ears, I learned that much the hard way.
“The arrogance!” Stalker roared, hitting his chest three times before he turned to Slayer and grabbed him by the neck. “Why did you stop me? I should have killed that miserable excuse of a King! Did you see how he shamed us? Mocked Raziel!?”
I placed my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He knew it was mine and visibly relaxed before turning to face me, his friend, brother, and leader.
“It’s alright, brother,” I affirmed, trying to calm my hot-blooded officer.
“Why do you keep letting them do this to us? To yourself? Why do you let them trample over what we’ve been through and done for them?” he groused.
“I—the time will come, trust me,” I replied, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Wait and you’ll see what I’ll do to them, but we need a little more time. We’re not strong enough.”
“Alright, Raziel. We decided to follow you for your strength and sense of justice, don’t forget that. We’ve followed you for fifty years now, so what’s a bit longer? Nothing. But this needs to stop one way or another.”
“If that’s everything,” I turned to the others, “be prepared to move out in the morning. Tell everyone about the mission and have them prepare.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sentinel replied as I disappeared into the darkness. Disappeared. Yeah, right. All I did was hide so I could spy on my people and see what they thought of me. It couldn’t be any worse than I thought of my own superiors, but they didn’t understand one very important thing. If I did anything to displease Lefrand, these idiots would feel his wrath in equal measure and lose their lives.
“What the hell is he even thinking?” Stalker growled as he stood there, hands clenched into fists. “He’s the Lord of War, but we keep getting the same shit from that pompous ingrate and Raziel only runs off into the night who knows where!”
“Oh, shut it, fool!” Sentinel snapped. He was never good with words so he tended to keep out of arguments and avoided useless chatter. Instead, he was one of those who would rather let his fists or sword do the talking for him.
“Who’re you calling a fool, fool?” Stalker hissed, shaking his fist at the larger man. Sentinel waved him off, turned around, and walked away. The quiet man didn’t like eye contact, not in the least. Slayer followed him with a still grumbling Stalker a couple of feet behind them.
“Sentinel, no matter how hard you try to wrap your mind around all this, there’s no way you can say you are okay with it, right?” Slayer said, hurrying to catch up with the bro
oding warrior. His remark was met with silence and then a slight shake of Sentinel’s head.
I slid from the top of one tree to another, keeping to the darkness of the night as I eyed the three. One never knew what kind of stupid shit they could be up to.
“The question is, what do we do about it?” Sentinel finally replied after a good half a minute of silence. “If we knew what was in store for us, we could prepare, but I have no idea what lies ahead. For all we know it may be a trap where our own allies will be arrayed against us.”
“The ‘not knowing’ is killing me,” Slayer sighed. “Something crazy is about to go down and I don't like it, not one bit. If it was just us, I wouldn't care. But, Raziel? He deserves only the best, even if he is a damn monster when it comes to killing,” he added.
“All we can do and all we will do,” Sentinel decided, “is get our asses in gear and prepare for any possible scenario. Everyone will have to give their all to prepare the provisions, tools, and armory if we are to be ready to depart by the morning. Raziel may be immortal, but we aren't. At least not yet.”
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