Blood-Stained Heir (Ascent Archives Book 1)

by T. Norman

  Tyrell clenched his fists at the mention of his sister. He was sick of her trying to control him.

  “I see.” Allison relaxed in her chair. “Well, Tyrell is here because I am teaching him very valuable skills.” She looked at Tyrell and licked her lips. He knew his fear about Tomir was correct. “If you care so much for your friend, why don’t you help him? Your timing couldn’t be better. For his next lesson, he needs someone just like you.”

  “W-what,” Tomir stuttered, visibly shaking. “What do you mean someone like me?”

  “Well, living, of course.” Allison smiled as Tomir turned and lunged at the closed door. He tugged with all his might, but the door refused to budge.

  Tyrell stayed in his seat, watching his best friend attempt to flee. He felt no pity for him. He shouldn’t have followed him in the first place.

  “Tyrell, please, don’t do this.” Tomir turned to plead with his friend, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Tyrell shook his head, turning back to Allison. “What should I start with?”

  Allison gave him a wicked smile. “Now, Tyrell, you told me after our last guest you wanted more. Well, here’s your chance: take all of it.”

  Tyrell found himself smiling for the first time in weeks. This was precisely what he wanted, and he couldn’t wait. He rose from his chair and turned to face his cowering friend.

  Tomir shook in the doorway, looking between Allison and Tyrell.

  “The more you struggle, the worse this will be for you. Just relax,” Tyrell said, trying to calm his friend as he pulled the dagger from his belt. The blood from the pale man was washed from the blade, but he could still feel the remnants of the energy released that night. He couldn’t wait any longer to take more.

  Taking two quick steps, Tyrell stood over Tomir as he fell to the ground, whimpering. Tyrell shook his head in disgust. He spat at Tomir.

  “Stand up and face me like a man. Show some pride for once.”

  Tomir curled into a tighter ball, refusing to move from the fetal position. Tyrell reached down and grabbed Tomir by his collar, heaving him to his feet.

  Tyrell stared at his friend as he held him up by the collar. Tomir’s eyes were red and wet from his tears. He couldn’t look Tyrell in the eye.

  In one swift move, Tyrell used his free hand to raise his dagger and slash Tomir’s throat open. Blood spilled out of his friends’ body and all over his clothes. Tyrell didn’t care, consumed by the power filling his veins.

  His eyes opened wide and he smiled at the energy he now felt. He let go of Tomir’s collar, causing his body to fall limp to the floor. Tyrell turned to face Allison, who still sat in her chair, legs crossed, and smiling.

  “You did it.” Lady Velmar rose from her chair and approached Tyrell, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re ready.”

  Tyrell smiled. After all this time of Amalia treating him like a child, he was finally going to make her pay.

  46

  Zaren crouched low, as the sun was barely visible on the horizon. It had been a long and grueling two days, in which he hadn’t slept, but the thrill of the impending siege was enough to keep him going. On the previous night, Zaren had worked his way down the hillside and was now a hundred yards from Bravestone’s eastern gate.

  Zaren went through his daily ritual of flexing every muscle in his body, working them loose and keeping them warm. All he could do was sit and wait.

  Zaren’s eyes were closed when he heard the first sounds of battle. Men shouted in the distance, faint, but he knew what it meant. He shifted in his crouched position, ready to rise as soon as the gate opened.

  A horn sounded from atop the battlements. His men were attacking, and he had to be ready to act at a moment’s notice.

  The eastern gate creaked open and two riders came rushing out on their mounts. Zaren leapt forward at a full sprint. The gate stopped opening and slowly began to close. He was halfway there, running with all his might, trying to reach it in time.

  Zaren angled himself toward the center of the gate rather than the side. He had twenty yards to go and only a small opening left. Sweat dripped off his forehead as he willed himself to go even faster.

  With only a crack left in the door, Zaren lunged forward, diving between the doors as they closed behind him. Zaren rolled to his feet and drew his sword.

  The four men in the courtyard stood dumbfounded as Zaren cut them down. They didn’t have time to draw their swords or make a sound.

  Taking a second to breathe, Zaren surveyed the fort. The ladder up to the battlements was open, but he knew he would encounter more resistance and be much more visible taking that route. Instead, he opted for a door on the northern end of the fort, hoping it would lead to the kitchens or some other less-populated route.

  To Zaren’s luck, the door opened to an empty hallway. He followed it past many closed doors, pausing at each one to listen. The end of the hallway came into sight as a door on Zaren’s left burst open. He leapt backwards as a handful of soldiers ran out of the room, going the opposite way from Zaren.

  A dozen men passed by, the last stopping to close the door. As he turned, he saw Zaren crouching with his sword drawn.

  Zaren leapt, trying to silence the man, but the soldier was able to get out a shout before his life slipped away. The other soldiers faltered at the sound, turning to see Zaren standing over their fallen comrade.

  Zaren swore under his breath. “Who wants to die first?” He spun his sword anxiously, awaiting the fight. In a narrow hallway, numbers would only hinder them.

  The guards charged forward, attacking Zaren two at a time.

  Zaren kept up a consistent beat of parrying a blow followed by a thrust or slice, taking down one soldier at a time. Finally, the last soldier fell, without Zaren giving up a single step. Zaren wiped his blade off on his robes, throwing aside his cloak used to conceal his movements during the night. He continued on his way to the far door.

  From the sounds behind the large wooden door, Zaren knew it led to the western courtyard—and the battle. Surveying the scene quickly, Zaren rushed back to the fallen soldiers, grabbing a helmet and tunic off one of the men. He picked up a shield and short sword as well, sheathing his scimitar in hopes of avoiding detection.

  Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Zaren slowed his heartbeat to a calm and steady rhythm. He pushed the door open and rushed outside.

  Zaren stumbled as he took in the number of soldiers on the battlements and in the courtyard. Groups of six men each were stationed across the battlements, numbering over one hundred in total. They all had bows drawn, raining arrows down on his men below the wall. In the courtyard were another two hundred men sharpening their swords and waiting patiently for the call to battle.

  Thankfully, no one took notice of Zaren’s hesitation. He marched forward, searching for some way to create a distraction. He noticed a stable full of hay along the wall. He grabbed one of the torches sitting in a sconce and marched confidently toward the hay.

  “You there, what do you think you’re doing?” Zaren saw out of the corner of his eye a man in a captain’s uniform pointing at him accusingly. Zaren pretended not to hear the man, quickening his pace.

  Zaren stepped behind the stacks of hay, dropping the torch behind him as he moved toward the other side. Zaren was only a few steps away from the stable when he heard shouts ring out to grab water. Almost a dozen men were posted below the main gate, and he knew there wouldn’t be an easy way to get it open undetected. He had to try what he could.

  “The captain needs help putting the fire out in the stables!” Zaren called to the men urgently. They turned to look at him with questioning looks.

  A larger man stepped forward, cocking his head to the side. “The captain said we aren’t to move from here until we are relieved,” he said.

  Zaren shrugged. “Your loss.” He leapt forward, stabbing the man through the stomach with his short sword. A soldier to his left rose from his sitting position, meeting Zaren�
��s shield as he swung out his left arm. The other men drew their swords and began to shout.

  “Intruder!”

  Zaren swore under his breath. He parried two blows with his sword and shield, slicing low, trying to immobilize the soldiers fast enough to buy himself time.

  He spun around just in time to meet a broadsword swinging downward toward his crouched position. His sword managed to stop the blow, but it was thrown from his hand in the process. Zaren tossed his shield aside and drew his scimitar.

  In a flurry of moves, Zaren parried and slashed with blinding speed. The men around him dropped, but not without landing blows across his arms and legs. As the last man standing before him dropped, Zaren felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder. He quickly dropped and rolled as five more arrows raced through the air where we had just been standing. Zaren glanced down the battlements to see six archers drawing back their bows to fire again. The arrows raced toward him, missing by only inches as he lunged toward the gate.

  At the gate, Zaren picked up a shield and slung it across his back. He sheathed his sword and began lifting the large wooden crossbeam out of its place to open the gate. He felt small, jabbing pains as arrows pierced the shield, stabbing him in the back.

  He had the beam in the air, ready to release it and thus open the gate when he collapsed to one knee, an arrow protruding from his calf.

  Zaren pushed himself back to his feet as he heard a man behind him charging his way. He drew his sword as he turned, falling sideways away from the deadly blow. A stab forward dropped the man to the ground. Zaren grabbed hold of the beam to heave himself to a standing position as an arrow flew into his thigh. He yelled in pain.

  More soldiers were grabbing their weapons and making their way toward him. This was his last chance to open the gate.

  Zaren stood, his legs trembling. He grabbed the massive beam and pushed upward. He shifted his shoulder underneath the wood, using all his might to lift it from its spot.

  Another arrow pierced his side as he continued to lift. Zaren glanced back to the courtyard; there were dozens of men less than ten yards away and getting closer. Zaren stood tall and pushed the beam out of its place, collapsing into the large gate as it fell open.

  A smile worked its way across Zaren’s lips as he watched his men file through the open gate and into the courtyard.

  The world started going dark as Zaren looked up at the clouds above. A familiar face stepped into his view, blotting out the sun. The young boy knelt down next to him. Zaren could hear him speaking, but couldn’t understand the words.

  It didn’t matter; he couldn’t feel any pain. He tried to remember what he was doing, but his thoughts were starting to fade. As Zaren closed his eyes, the last image he saw was of a young woman with black hair. As he was kissing her soft lips she stepped back, looked up at him, and smiled.

  47

  Gant shifted awkwardly in his robes. He didn’t like pretending to be a servant, but if it meant he would be there to rescue his dad and Julia, he was willing to do it.

  Lady Dekhart was more than Gant had expected. She was a tall, looming woman who looked more than willing and capable of fighting for what was hers.

  She had given all of them the clothes they needed to look the part. Mic and Don wore the chainmail and robes that were standard of guards. Henrik was dressed in ornate robes with rings and necklaces decorating his neck and hands. He continually complained about the weight of the jewelry.

  “Is this all necessary? I can’t stand these necklaces.” Henrik scratched at his neck awkwardly.

  Eliana smiled as she looked at the warrior. “I think you look pompous and stubborn.” She wore a skimpy dress that revealed more of her legs than she probably preferred. Henrik couldn’t stop staring at her sleek figure.

  Henrik gave her a wink. “So I look like a slave trader? Perfect!”

  Gant smiled at the two, seeing the mutual attraction.

  Lady Dekhart cleared her throat, bringing the two lovebirds back to reality. “If you don’t mind, I would like to go over our plan. The fights will be starting this morning. We need to be in place and ready to go.”

  Henrik sighed. “All right, let’s go through it.”

  Lady Dekhart nodded. “You all know your roles, I’m assuming. When we get in, let me do the talking.” Gant noticed her guards were standing close to her side, hands on their weapons. “Once inside, we will take our place in the crowd and wait. I have men placed throughout the crowd. The best opportunity to get your friends out is in between the dungeons and the fighting pits.”

  Gant didn’t like relying on chance. “How do we know when they’re in between?” he asked.

  Lady Dekhart scowled at Gant. “The only way to know for sure is to get them as they leave the pits.”

  “So you’re saying we need to watch them fight?” Henrik asked. “What happens if they’re getting killed? We sit idly by and enjoy the show?”

  “Yes, that is precisely what we do.” Lady Dekhart didn’t avoid Henrik’s gaze.

  “Henrik,” Mic spoke up, trying to decrease the tension. “Lady Dekhart is right. Vas has too many guards; this is our only window to save them. They’re strong, they aren’t going to die in there.”

  Henrik’s fists were clenched. Eliana placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. “They’ll be okay, you need to believe that.” Gant wondered how much had happened between the two. She was pressed right up against his arm, and neither seemed uncomfortable with the closeness.

  “Fine.” Henrik shook his head. He hated the lack of control they had in this plan as much as Gant did.

  “When we get your friends, my guards, Martyn and Boros,” Lady Dekhart said, gesturing at the men standing on either side of her, “will lead you out of the dungeons and to the carriages that will bring you to your ship. Follow them, no matter what happens.”

  Martyn was a young, thin man, while Boros was the complete opposite, tall and huge. His dark skin was a contrast to Martyn’s lighter complexion, as well. Neither man wore chains, but both had scars on their wrists, ankles, and necks where chains had once been. Gant couldn’t imagine what these men went through that they were now Lady Dekhart’s trusted guards.

  “Unless you have any questions, it’s time we make our way to the stands.” After a moment of silence, Lady Dekhart gestured for Henrik to follow her. Boros and Martyn took the lead, forcing their way through the crowd, Henrik and Lady Dekhart immediately behind them. Gant and Eliana followed next, with Mic and Don taking up the rear.

  Gant was amazed at the crowd of people, larger than he ever could have imagined. He assumed they were all heading toward the fighting pits as well.

  The coliseum towered in front of them. Tunnels led to the seating around the fighting pit, and Gant noticed a few large, closed doors with armed guards standing outside. He guessed there were armed guards inside, as well. Getting their friends free would be no easy task.

  Inside, the stands filled with spectators. A tent, raised up and away from the rest of the seating, covered a large area to his left. Dozens of guards were posted around it and Gant saw a tunnel that led directly from the tent into the coliseum. He knew this was where they would find Vas.

  Lady Dekhart found their seats in a sectioned-off area. Martyn, Boros, Don, and Mic took up their positions around the seating area. Lady Dekhart and Henrik sat in the two large chairs reserved for them. Gant and Eliana stood behind them, awaiting their commands.

  Gant searched the crowd and the fighting pit below, trying to take in as many details as possible, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A group of people walked out of the tunnel and into the tent-covered sitting area. An older man in the middle, built like a fighter and wearing ornate robes, was surrounded by guards. Gant figured this was Vas. Servants and handmaidens walked out and took their place on the pavilion.

  Eliana gasped, throwing her hands to her mouth to cover her surprise. Henrik quickly turned around in his seat to see what was wrong. Gant foll
owed Eliana’s gaze to a young boy holding a bowl of fruit at Vas’s side.

  “El, what is it?” Henrik nearly stood to comfort her before Lady Dekhart placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stay in his seat.

  She timidly pointed toward the boy and said, “That’s my son, Meeko.”

  Henrik saw the young boy and he nodded. “Don’t worry, we won’t leave without him,” he said, giving Eliana a warm smile, trying to reassure her.

  She nodded, though she looked unsure. The boy was with Vas and his score of guards, and Gant didn’t know if they would be able to get him out alive.

  As Gant started to take his gaze from Vas’s tent, he noticed an old woman with a young girl sitting next to her. His eyes grew wide as he recognized Julia.

  Leaning over, he whispered to Mic, “It’s Julia, under the tent with Vas.”

  Mic shifted his gaze slightly in the direction of Vas, nodding once he saw her.

  Gant’s frustration grew. Not only did they need to rescue his father between the fighting pits and dungeons, but now they needed to get under the tent, as well.

  “I can get us under that tent with Vas, just follow my lead,” Mic whispered into Gant’s ear. He turned and started walking up the steps of the seating area. Gant looked at the others around him. They were focused on the slaves, who had begun their march out of the tunnels and into the fighting pit.

  Taking the opportunity, Gant quickly turned and followed Mic out of the stands.

  When they reached a tunnel leading back toward the main passageway, Mic stopped just inside, turning to talk with Gant. To Gant’s surprise, Mic wasn’t looking at him, but looking over his shoulder. Gant turned to find Eliana following a few feet behind him.

  “You’re going after Vas, aren’t you?” A fire burned bright in her eyes.

  “Go back to the others. We’ll get your son for you.” Mic was stern in his command.

  Eliana looked from Mic to Gant, who tried to reassure her. “I promise, we will get him. You need to trust us.” With a sigh, Eliana turned on her heels and returned to the stands.