COPYRIGHT
Copyright © T.L. Branson 2018
The right of T.L. Branson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be edited, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), or reproduced in any manner without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s permission. Permission can be obtained through www.tlbranson.com
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Certain events may have been adapted from history, but do not contain any real details.
1st Edition 2018
Published by T.L. Branson
Cover Illustration by Leonardo Borazio
Cover Layout by T.L. Branson
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE
COPYRIGHT
TABLE OF CONTENTS
BOOKS AND STORIES BY T.L. BRANSON
GET RELEASE NOTIFICATIONS
MIDNIGHT BLADE
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
KINGSBANE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
ASH AND STEEL
SENTINELS OF THE STONE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
EPILOGUE
AFTERWORD
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SNEAK PEEK
BOOKS AND STORIES BY T.L. BRANSON
SHORT STORIES AND NOVELLAS
Midnight Blade
Kingsbane
Ash and Steel
Sentinels of the Stone
NOVELS
Soul Render (April 24, 2018)
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MIDNIGHT BLADE
PART 1
All his life, Davion Callum wondered if he would find his parents. It remained a mystery nobody cared to solve. Nobody but Callum, of course. His mother dropped him on an orphanage doorstep eighteen years ago wrapped in a blanket, a piece of parchment pinned to it bearing his name.
Staring at the old paper in his hand, he traced his finger along the curl at the top of the cursive “D” and down the swoop of the “C.”
Who had such beautiful handwriting? He wondered. And was she just as pretty?
He had tried to find his parents once but no one took him seriously, nobody ever did.
“What did I say about showing your face in here again?” Gerald’s voice called out.
Callum’s head snapped up just in time. He ducked under the man’s left hook and backed away, stuffing the parchment into his pocket.
“Come now, boys,” the old barkeep said, “I don’t want any trouble like last time.”
“Then we’ll try to spice it up,” Gerald replied as he grabbed Callum by his tunic and shoved him against the wall by the bar.
“I know just what you’re looking for,” Callum said, grabbing a mug of ale off the bar and splashing it into Gerald’s face.
Gerald hollered and dropped him to wipe his eyes. Using the distraction, Callum slipped away.
“You’re going to regret that,” Gerald roared and came at him, arms raised.
“You have to catch me first,” Callum replied, casting a wry grin.
Gerald made to snatch him, but Callum ducked under his arms and spun. Gerald seethed with anger, his teeth clenched. He grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it at Callum. Callum dove to the ground. The chair collided with the wall and shattered.
“Hey!” the barkeep yelled. “Break it up right—”
Callum picked up a broken chair leg and sprang to his feet. As Gerald barreled in, Callum swung the makeshift weapon at the man’s head.
Gerald grabbed it, stopping its momentum. The man pulled his head back and bashed it into Callum’s, sending him stumbling back right into another patron.
“Sorry,” Callum said, gripping the man on the shoulder for balance.
When he turned back, he found a fist an inch from his face, too late to dodge. The force of the blow sent him reeling and tumbling to the floor. Callum reached up to his nose and found blood on his hand. He rose on one knee. Gerald raised the broken chair leg—
Crack!
Gerald stumbled forward. Callum lunged to the left to prevent the man’s hulking form from flattening him. A broken broom head fell to the floor in the man’s wake. The old barkeep stood behind him with the other half still in his hands.
“I said no trouble, and I meant it,” he said. “Get out.”
Gerald grumbled an apology and left the tavern. Callum got to his feet once again, brushed himself off, and headed back to his drink.
The barkeep coughed. “Both of you,” the man said, pointing to the door.
“Come on. It wasn’t my fault,” Callum pleaded. “He attacked me.”
“Out!” he yelled.
“Okay, okay,” Callum said, holding his hands up in defeat.
He exited the tavern and stepped out into the dark of night. The moon shone brightly overhead, the salty sea breeze causing a chill to run down his spine. Callum pulled his arms close to keep warm and turned down a dark alley. A pair of heavy footsteps fell in line behind him.
Callum glanced over his shoulder but did not slow his pace.
“You didn’t have to hit me so hard,” Callum said in the darkness.
Gerald walked up beside him. “Had to make it look good, didn’t I?”
Callum wiped the blood from his nose. “Still…”
“Are you bleeding crazy?” he asked. “You could get me killed showing up like this.”
“Rommel’s called a meeting,” Callum said, ignoring the question. “He’s going to want reassurances.”
“It’ll never work,” he said, huffing.
“Gerald…”
“You can’t get more than a handful of people through that door. How does he expect to—?”
“Gerald!”
“Fine! Yes. I’ll do it. I’m your man,” he said, grumbling. “Just give me some advanced notice. I’ll need to make excuses to get rid of the others.”
***
“Right in here, please,” the servant said, extending his arm to the empty room. “Lord Rommel will be along shortly.”
“Thank you,” Callum said as the servant turned and left him alone.
Rommel’s personal study was the height of luxury. Bookcases filled with books ran the length of the room. A grand fireplace adorned the left wall, its low fire casting a soft glow. Along the far wall sat a large bed for when Rommel couldn’t be bothered to return to his quarters. Beyond it, a balcony stretched out o
ver Havan’s northern sea. The glass doors would normally be open, curtains lightly fluttering in the breeze, but spring was late and the night was unusually cool.
In the center of the room sat a desk. On top lay a stack of papers, a worn red notebook, and a few quills, but the largest of the items was a map of Havan. Callum walked over to the desk and studied the map.
Each of the four ruling Houses controlled a quarter of the city, their four strongholds in the four corners, the two lesser Houses in the south, and the two greater Houses in the north. The stronghold in the nor’west bore the symbol of a bear: House Rommel’s crest. Opposite it, in the nor’east, sat the eagle of House Gramoll.
The flames in the fireplace beside the desk crackled and flickered in the night. Miniature figurines representing soldiers atop the map caught the light, casting long shadows across it. Several blue figurines lined the walls of House Gramoll, save a lone figurine at the front gate wearing a red band: Gerald. Several more red figurines filled the streets surrounding the house.
The attack would launch in a few weeks. Callum would be happy when it was done. He hated these meetings. Looking at the map again, his eyes settled on a red notebook sitting beside it. In all his visits to Rommel’s study, he’d never seen it before.
Checking to make sure no one was coming, Callum picked it up and flipped open the cover. He gathered the loose papers within and began to read them. Many were worthless personal notes like Rommel’s first order, an unpaid financial agreement, and a note of thanks from a nobleman for solving some problem. But one particular letter caught Callum’s attention. It was written in the hand of a woman. A love letter. The script seemed familiar.
It started, “My Dearest Fabian.” Callum’s eye hung up on the “D.” He knew that “D.” The way it curved, its flourish as it terminated. He set the book on the desk and withdrew the old piece of parchment in his pocket. He unfolded it and laid it beside the letter.
“You what?” a voice roared from outside the door.
“I’m sorry, my lord, he arrived early,” another voice said. Callum recognized the voice as belonging to the servant who let him in.
Callum snapped the notebook shut and placed it back on the desk as Lord Fabian Rommel, head of House Rommel, the second most powerful man in Havan behind the lord of House Gramoll, entered the room.
He was tall, but not unusually so. He might have been a striking, handsome figure in his youth. Though he was only in his forties, stress had eaten away at him. His hair had grayed prematurely and chiseled lines surrounded his eyes and covered his forehead.
Rommel shot a glare at Callum and asked, “Where is Captain Platz?”
“He said he would be delayed and sent me along ahead. He told me to tell you not to wait for him,” Callum replied.
Rommel’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room, making sure nothing was out of place. Callum checked the desk, verifying he’d placed the notebook back properly. It appeared in order, but he realized he’d left his parchment lying beside it. Rommel approached the desk, picked up the red notebook, and placed it into a drawer. While Rommel was distracted, Callum snatched the parchment from the desk and shoved it into his pocket.
Rommel said, “What did you just—?”
The door swung open and in strode two nobles Callum recognized as counselors for the lesser Houses, Roth and Ober.
“What’s the meaning of this? Do you have no decency for the hour?” Lord Roth’s counselor bellowed.
“These meetings are secret for a reason,” Rommel explained. “It’s not as though I can post to your House noticeboard.” Rommel rolled his eyes.
Callum tuned them out as Rommel droned on.
Callum was ecstatic. After years of searching, he finally had a solid lead on his mother. He was almost positive she had penned the letter in Rommel’s notebook. She had to have. There was no way to know for sure, but the writing appeared the same. He was pretty sure it was her. But did that mean—?
“Callum!”
He shook his head and blinked as the study came back into focus.
“Me? My lord?” he asked, pointing to himself.
“Now, boy,” Rommel snapped.
Callum jumped, unease overwhelming him. At some point Platz had arrived. All the men stood hunched over the map on the desk. Platz moved aside as Callum drew near.
“You’re sure your contact is reliable?” Rommel asked him, pointing to the figurine with the red band.
“My lord, he has expressed some concerns about—”
“Will he be there?” the lord said, enunciating every word.
“Yes, my lord,” Callum replied.
“Good,” Rommel said, waving him off.
Callum retreated once again to his position along the wall in Rommel’s study.
“My men are ready to strike at your command, my lord,” Platz said.
“You have the support of House Roth,” one the nobles said.
“And House Ober,” said another.
“But,” the first noble said, “you’ll understand if my lord Roth wishes not to lend physical aide. Should your plans go awry—”
“What good are you then?” Rommel spat, slamming his fist onto the desk.
“As I was saying,” the man continued. “While we will not lend aide, neither will Lord Roth oppose your ascension to high lord.”
“What about Lord Ober?” Rommel addressed the second man, casting him a scrutinizing glare.
“He will send his forces…” Ober’s counselor said.
“But?”
The man shifted uneasily, glancing at Roth’s counselor. “My lord wants to advance above House Roth in exchange for his service.”
Roth’s counselor roared, “Outrageous!”
“Done,” Rommel said.
“Lord Roth will hear of this!”
“Let him stew,” Rommel said. “Little investment begets little reward. If your lord wishes to reconsider, however…”
“No. My lord was clear. House Roth will not assist in this harebrained scheme of yours.”
“Then he made my decision for me,” Rommel said. “We launch tonight.”
Callum choked.
“Have something to say, boy?” Rommel asked.
“Uh, well,” Callum started to say, but Platz cast him a glare. “No, my lord.”
Rommel narrowed his eyes then looked at the others and said, “Commence the attack at midnight. Dismissed.”
The men turned to leave and Callum fell in line behind Platz.
“Not you, Callum,” Rommel said.
Callum froze in his tracks, looking between Platz and Rommel.
“You heard him,” Platz said, taking his leave.
When everyone had left and the door closed, Rommel held out his hand and said, “Let’s have it.”
“Have what, my lord?” Callum asked, confused.
“Platz tells me you’re a good soldier, superb skills in the training ring, but your attention is lacking and you shirk your responsibilities. We’re on the eve of perhaps the greatest insurgency in history and you’re distracted. I need you focused. Our plan hinges on you and your contact, gods help us. If there was another way, we’d take it. So let’s have it,” Rommel said, beckoning with his hand. “I want to see what’s so enamoring that you can’t pay attention for fifteen minutes.”
Callum reluctantly pulled the parchment from his pocket and handed it to Rommel. The lord unfolded it and glanced at it.
“What’s this?” Rommel asked, flipping it over several times.
“It’s all I have from my mother, my lord,” Callum said.
“This? This is what drew your…”
Rommel paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked more closely at the parchment, then he tossed it into the fireplace.
Callum’s eyes widened as panic flooded through him.
“There, no more distractions,” Rommel said, turning back to his desk.
No, no, no, Callum thought.
With Rommel’s back turned, Cal
lum reached in and pulled the parchment from the fireplace. He pushed it against his leg, dampening the tiny flame that had caught hold of a corner. Refolding it, he shoved the now charred parchment back into his pocket before Rommel noticed.
The lord sat down in his chair and glanced over at Callum. “What are you still doing here? Go. Alert your contact of the change in plans.”
***
Darkness reigned. The streets were empty. Or at least they appeared so. Callum knew that somewhere beyond what his eyes could see, two armies were mobilizing as swiftly and silently as possible.
Callum approached the large, solid oak doors of House Gramoll’s outer gates. Inlaid in the bottom right was a small door, enough to fit a man if he ducked. His knuckles rapped against the wood. One long tap, two shorts, followed by one more long: a cadence identified only by his contact.
The small door cracked open, groaning as it did.
“What are you doing here?” an unseen voice said. “I told you never—”
“The attack is tonight,” Callum said.
“What?” Gerald whispered harshly. “Is he mad? Does he know what today is?”
“I’m sure that is precisely the reason Rommel moved up the timetable,” Callum said, looking around him. “Can you do it?”
“Aye, but—”
“Await the signal,” Callum said, and left without another word.
He hated using the man. That’s all Gerald was, a mark. Callum knew the rules. Don’t get attached to your marks. But still, it wasn’t what he had in mind when he joined Rommel’s guard. In fact, the only reason he applied was to get inside House Rommel. He’d followed a lead indicating his mother lived there, or did at one time. It was all he had to go on.
The trail had run cold and then he got wrapped up in Rommel’s scheme. Luck finally shined in his favor, though. The letter in Rommel’s desk was the best lead he had. He needed to see that letter again if he wanted to know for sure. At the very least, he needed a name. Maybe he could find her if he knew her name. With regards to his father… Callum didn’t even want to pursue that line of thinking yet. Not without confirming the—
Soul Siphon: Set includes four books: Midnight Blade, Kingsbane, Ash and Steel, Sentinels of the Stone (Soul Stones) Page 1