As he continued to venture through the labyrinth of trees, Hondo could feel his muscles tighten in anticipation of a kill. His senses became heightened while attempting to pinpoint the location of potential prey. In the growing darkness, Hondo could hear the chirps of birds in the canopy and smell fresh deer droppings in the underbrush. These were familiar sensations as Hondo had participated in countless hunts.
Still, even though Hondo was an experienced hunter, he was hoping to bring a larger amount of meat than usual. He owed Numen the best he could provide for saving him and his sister. Therefore, Hondo kept his eyes open for the best prey items he could find.
Eventually, Hondo heard something rustling in the meadow ahead of him. Crouching down to a stealthy stance, Hondo crept up to the edge of the meadow. Squinting his eyes, Hondo spotted a group of rabbits grazing through the grass.
Slowly reaching for his quiver, Hondo took soft breaths. With his arrow fastened to his bow, he stretched his weapon and took aim. As he was taught, Hondo waited for the right moment to fire his shot. When one of the rabbits poked its head above the grass, Hondo loosed his arrow . . .
__ __ __
Not far away, Numen and Naera sat together in front of a camp fire. Their makeshift beds each consisted of animal pelts with their traveling bags as their pillows. Naera leaned against Numen’s shoulder, which made Numen’s heart flutter.
Sighing, Naera softly asked, “What a tranquil night this is. Wouldn’t you say?”
Hesitating, Numen replied, “Aye. I did not expect a simple life on the road would be so peaceful.”
Eyeing Gramfyre resting under Numen’s pelt sheets, Naera asked, “My father and I sensed strong ancient magic coming from your sword. What is its story?”
Smiling, Numen explained, “Its name is Gramfyre and it is my ancestral sword. For thousands of years, my bloodline used this sword to rule this entire continent. Legend claims that the founder of our family scavenged the scales of a dragon and used blood magic to forge it. As a result, no one except me and my blood relatives can wield it. That must have been the magic you and Gramba were sensing.”
After a moment’s thought, Naera examined the glyphs on Gramfyre’s fuller and said, “Those runes say, Gramfyre is my name. The Sword of Power. None but my Chosen Blood may hold me and live. When we have children, will they be able to wield your sword since they will share your blood?”
Numen felt his cheeks become warm as he blushed before answering, “Aye. Also we are married so our children will be legitimate and be the heirs to the Imperial Throne . . . that is if the day ever comes when my family is back on the Throne.”
Patting Numen affectionately on the upper arm, Naera assured, “You did the impossible when you slew the Graega. You can definitely overcome the impossible again to take your throne.”
Chuckling, Numen said, “I certainly hope so. I have no wealth or lands to offer our children. All I have to offer is Gramfyre and my blood claim to the Imperial Throne. After House Sylva’s lackey King Robar murdered my family and took our lands . . . I want my children and their children’s children to have a future they can be proud of. What future would be more worthwhile than to become the most powerful dynasty in the realm once again?”
Her beautiful face sad yet understanding, Naera said, “Wealth and power is not everything. I know you mean well, but you need to acknowledge that there is more to life than that. For instance, we are here with one another with the forest watching over us. Civil Folk have their castles, but we Welts have our forests. You have your gold and politics while we have our bronze and Gods. A simple life is easier than a complex one. However, whatever path you choose will be fine because I will be with you every step of the way.”
Numen could not help but admire Naera’s wisdom and commitment to their marriage.
With curiosity creeping into his mind, Numen asked, “Is it true you can communicate with wolves?”
Sneering with pride, Naera replied, “Oh yes. With an enchanted cry, I can summon an army of wolves in a moment’s notice. In addition, my mystical connection with wolves tends to make me fight like one when I need to.”
Naera reached into her fur boots and pulled out a pair of bronze karambit daggers. Numen was amazed by the beautiful craftsmanship of the blades as well as their intimidating appearance.
Holding her daggers up, Naera explained, “With these I can rip and shred my foes like a wolf does with its fangs and claws. You do not want to be around me when that happens.”
Shivering, Numen joked, “Well, I wouldn’t want those stabbed into my guts.”
Naera giggled in response and put her karambits back in her boots. At that moment, Hondo returned with three rabbits and his bow slung over his shoulder.
“I hope you are hungry because I brought dinner. Which would you prefer? A stew or roasted on a stick?”
Shrugging, Numen replied, “Whichever you prefer.”
Smiling, Hondo declared, “A stick roast it is then.”
Numen and Naera watched with anticipation as Hondo skinned the rabbits, skewered them on sticks, and hung them over the camp fire. The trio waited until the rabbits turned crispy with a golden brown color. When their meal was ready, they each picked a rabbit and ate.
Savoring the meat, Numen commented, “This tastes like roasted chicken, but without any spices. I love it!”
His smile broadening, Hondo said, “I am pleased to hear that. If you enjoyed these rabbits, wait until I catch a deer.”
Suddenly, Naera sniffed the air and rose to her feet as she surveyed their surroundings. Both Numen and Hondo looked Naera with concern.
“What’s wrong?” Numen asked.
Before Naera could answer, an arrow shot out of the trees and impaled Naera through the right side of her chest. After a gasp, Naera collapsed limply. Numen and Hondo were horrified by the sight of Naera’s injury, screaming in anguish.
Then a group of men in mismatching armor and weapons emerged from the forest and surrounded Numen and Hondo. In response, Numen grabbed Gramfyre and Hondo snatched his falcata. The two engaged their new foes with enraged grief as they struck down one attacker after another.
Numen, in particular, fought with great ferocity as he subconsciously drew strength from Gramfyre’s magic. Steel weapons and plate armor were no match for Gramfyre’s superior cutting power and Numen’s augmented strikes. As he slew one opponent after another, Numen remembered when he first accessed Gramfyre. While Gramfyre was making Numen strong, he could also feel it slowly weaken him as the sword’s magic taxed his life force.
Eventually, Gramfyre’s power took its toll on Numen as his movements became sluggish and his strikes weakened. His breathing grew more ragged and he sweated profusely. Despite his severe exhaustion, Numen kept pushing himself as he desperately tried to avenge Naera.
Numen yelped as a whip lashed at his wrist, knocking Gramfyre out of his hand. Then a second whip swiftly wrapped around Numen’s neck like a serpent. Struggling to breathe, Numen desperately tried to free himself, but to no avail.
At the corner of his eye, Numen saw that Hondo was subdued too. Naera’s lifeless body lay beneath them. The remaining attackers surrounded them with their blades drawn. One of the mysterious men looked down at Gramfyre, his eyes glimmering with greed through his helmet.
“Handsome blade you got, boy,” the stranger said, reaching for Gramfyre.
Numen barely managed to say, “Don’t . . . touch it!”
However, it was too late. The moment the stranger touched Gramfyre, he became engulfed in gold flames and he screamed in agony before dying a moment later. In an instant, the man’s body was turned into a charred skeleton and collapsed. To Numen’s horror, the bones reminded Numen of the human remains that were under Magnus Keep.
So this is what happened to all those servants! Numen thought with dread.
The rest of the raiders and Hondo were just as horrified as Numen was. One of the attackers removed his helmet, revealing himself to be bald w
ith one brown eye and one blue eye. Encircling his right eye was a jagged tattoo resembling a snake.
Recognizing the tattoo, Numen softly gasped, “Slavers!”
Storming towards Numen, the head slaver grabbed Numen by his constricted throat and fiercely demanded, “You took down half a dozen men single-handed and one of my best burned to death by touching your weapon. What kind of sorcery is in that sword, boy?”
Mustering his strength, Numen sneered, “For reasons I can’t explain, no one besides me can hold that sword and live. It makes me strong!”
Grinning deviously with gold teeth, the slaver laughed, “Oh I have big plans for you! For I, Raza Hornbane, am always looking for fresh meat for my customers! Take them both and let this one pick up his sword!”
One command, the slavers gagged and bound Hondo, dragging him away as he roared with rage. The whip loosened around Numen’s neck just enough for him to reach Gramfyre. Once the sword was in his hand, Numen tried resisting, but the slavers restrained him and forced his arms to sheathe Gramfyre, careful not to touch the blade. Numen fought through the entire process, but after Gramfyre was secure the slavers gagged and bound him.
As the slavers lifted Numen over their shoulders, Numen caught one last glimpse of Naera. A sour mixture of pain, wrath, and grief enveloped Numen’s mind while he burned the image into his memory forever. Then Numen’s world went black as one of the slavers struck him in the back of the head . . .
__ __ __
Unbeknownst to all, when the slavers disappeared into the woods, Naera’s corpse lay silently on top of the foliage. Her flesh became as pale as brittle chalk while her red turned into the luster of dry blood. The meadow was so quiet not even the voices of the dead could be heard.
Suddenly, a raven flew through the trees before perching itself on top of the arrow shaft sticking out of Naera’s chest. The black bird looked down at Naera with intelligent eyes like a harbinger of souls ready to take her away. Throwing its head back, the raven released a gurgling cry that echoed through the forest.
Soon more ravens arrived, landing on the branches of the surrounding trees. On the ground, dozens of wolves circled Naera’s body, emitting whimpering growls. The snarls and caws of the wolves and ravens became so loud and consistent that they drowned out all other sounds in the area.
Then Naera opened her eyes, which started to glow crimson. As if on que, the eyes of the wolves and ravens turned scarlet as well. Several roots slithered out of the soil and slowly wrapped around Naera into a cocoon. After a while, the roots grew still and the animals stared blankly at the chrysalis . . .
__ __ __
Two weeks later . . .
Naera’s cocoon remained quiet in the meadow. Whatever belongings that was left at the camp site was stolen days before. The wolves and ravens also abandoned the area.
Suddenly, the chrysalis began to stir and loud scratching noises came from within it. After much scratching, a hand with long fingernails holding a bronze karambit burst out of the roots. A piercing scream that was a combination between human and beast filled the air . . .
CHAPTER 19
King Robar whistled a cheerful tune and played with a freshly plucked eyeball as he sat on his throne. The chair was a distorted mixture between dark wood and black iron. His great hall was a complex and angular chamber of oak and stone.
Sneering at the eyeball, Robar taunted, “You know what you are? A moment ago, you were a courtier mocking my hump. Now, you are my breakfast.”
Then Robar slurped up the eyeball and chewed it with a loud pop. To any other person, the eyeball would have tasted awful, but it was as juicy as a ripe grape to Robar. A trickle of blood dripped from the corner of Robar’s mouth.
After enjoying his grotesque snack, Robar leaned back in his throne. To Robar’s relief, the chair’s odd shape accommodated the hump on his back, allowing him to sit comfortably.
Looking at his strong hand and slender fingers, Robar murmured, “I ate House Magnus . . . the true Imperial bloodline . . . so why don’t I feel any more powerful?”
The question lingered in Robar’s mind as he continued to stare at his hand for a long while.
Clenching his hand into a fist, Robar declared, “I need more Imperial blood if I am going to become emperor! I need to get my hands on House Letum while I still can!”
A knock came from the door and Robar replied, “Enter!”
The door opened to reveal a soldier wearing a surcoat with House Baal’s sigil.
Standing at attention, the soldier announced, “Sire, Barons Harald Karlor and John Ubba have arrived with their forces. They wish to speak with you.”
Waving his hand irritably, Robar ordered, “Send them in.”
After the soldier departed, two men entered the great hall with purposeful steps. Harald Karlor was a slender man with brown hair, stubble on his face, and gloomy eyes. His attire consisted of jagged leather armor and chainmail with a dark cape flowing from his shoulders. The surcoat on his chest bore the sigil of House Karlor: three stars in a V-shaped pattern on a blue field. John Ubba was taller and more muscular than Harald with a bald head and black beard that was decorated into a braid. In addition to traditional the leather armor and chainmail of Umbran, John wore a livery collar that resembled a bronze chain. On John’s surcoat was the sigil of House Ubba: an ox’s skull wrapped in rusty chains. Both men kneeled before Robar when they reached the dais of his throne.
Impatient, Robar ordered, “Yes! Yes! On your feet! What business do you bring?”
After the two barons rose to their feet, Harald announced, “We have come as you requested, Your Majesty.”
“Apparently. Are you two it? I ordered all of the barons to gather with their armies! Where the hell are they?”
In a gruff voice, John replied, “They are too scared witless to serve you or come to the Letums’ rescue. Therefore, they chose to remain neutral and hide in their castles. We are the only ones who answered your call. We each brought four thousand men who await your commands.”
Contemplating for a moment, Robar said, “I managed to gather over ten thousand men. That gives us a total of eighteen thousand men in addition to hundreds of engineers, cooks, and medics. Once we deal with the Letums, I will attain and eat the other barons for their disloyalty and cowardice.”
Sneering, Harald jested, “Perhaps you can invite us to the feast after we defeat the Letums, Sire.”
Nodding in approval, Robar said, “You are welcome to it, but before all of that we must take down House Letum. I have some bad news regarding that. Apparently, House Letum are preparing for a siege. For now, we outnumber them ten to one, but we need to fight them now before they gather more soldiers or finish fortifying their defenses. What say you?”
Both Harald and John bowed deeply, Harald declared, “We will follow you to whatever end, Your Majesty.”
Displaying a disgusting smile, Robar ordered, “Let’s rally the men and invade Foxden Castle! Bring me their blood! Bring me their flesh!”
__ __ __
Two days later, Richard Letum stood up on the battlements of Foxden Castle as he watched as people being evicted from the fortress. Some of them ran down the slope that led to the castle while the rest looked back as though hoping they would be let in. In the end, all of the civilians left without further resistance. Below Richard were stonemasons and engineers working to fortify Foxden’s already formidable defenses with hoardings. Past the stonemasons and engineers were the castle’s garrison, who were busy training and stockpiling weapons.
Standing beside Richard were his youngest son and daughter, Benjamin and Lara. While Richard remained resolute about evicting the people, Benjamin and Lara were sympathetic.
Turning to his father, Benjamin asked, “Why are you sending these people away, Father?”
Not taking his eyes off the horizon, Richard explained, “We are preparing for a lengthy siege. Our storerooms house enough food and provisions to last us two years, but in order to cons
erve what we can we need to get rid of any unnecessary mouths from the castle.”
Gripping the sword on her belt, Lara fiercely said, “We are ready to fight whenever you are, Father!”
Smiling warmly, Richard replied, “I know you are, Dear.”
Richard’s middle son, Edward, approached his family. Edward resembled his father and brothers with black hair and dark eyes. While Benjamin’s face resembled innocence and Brom’s face displayed hardness, Edward’s expression was a balance between the two.
Turning to Edward, Richard asked, “How are the fortifications coming?”
Standing firmly, Edward reported, “They are almost done and will finish within a few hours. Then we will send them away along with all the unnecessary mouths.”
At that moment, Brom joined the group along with the castle’s Swordmaster, Dirk Kane. Dirk was a middle-aged man who was almost the same age as Richard. He was a muscular man who was bald with a graying beard that was decorated into a long braid.
Bowing his head briefly, Dirk reported, “My Lord, our garrison is fully armed and ready for battle.”
Brom interjected, “I would not refer to them as ready, Father. Most of the men we conscripted are farmers, blacksmiths, and stable boys. They may have received training, but they have no experience in combat. They are so scared that I even overheard whispers of desertion.”
Frustrated, Richard demanded, “What else do you suggest, Brom?”
“Send out more messenger pigeons to all the barons in Umbran. There has to be someone who will provide us aid. Baron Torren should help us since I am married to his daughter.”
Suddenly, before Richard could add to the discussion, Lara hollered, “Father, look! A rider!”
Everyone’s attention turned towards the outside of the castle walls. Amidst the crowd of people being evicted was a single horseman riding towards Foxden Castle. The frantic way the man was riding was a clear sign of the news he brought.
Numen the Slayer (Magnus Dynasty Saga Book 1) Page 7