The Blood Witch (The Blood Reign Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

Nicoldani was bone-tired weary, and his last bit of hope was fading. It had been an old man’s story, perhaps a ruse itself, which had sent him away from his obligations at Gethseena. There he sat, dejected and disheartened atop a small hill in the middle of nowhere, looking for a place that probably didn’t even exist. He had been there so long that the sun had already set and it was dark now, but he was still sitting on his horse staring blankly in the direction of the village, which offered very little hope. The waning gibbous moon was just topping the eastern horizon, and his horse was stamping impatiently.

Nicoldani slid deliberately down from the back of his horse, with the bitterness and shame welling up inside him anew. It was at that moment that he decided what must be done. He had escaped his fate for far too long, and justice needed to be met at last. He could no longer bear the shame he felt inside. Besides, his entire life, his core beliefs had all been lies.

He knelt purposefully and slid his Kerpai deliberately from its scabbard. Reaching back over his shoulder, he grasped the tail of his hair firmly in one hand. The razor sharp blade gleamed in the moonlight as his other hand raised the Kerpai to his Kalna to make the fateful cut……….

Suddenly the world went mad.

The entire earth began to shake so violently that Nicoldani was knocked forward to land on his hands. Even then, on his hands and knees he was barely able to keep from toppling over with all the shaking. His stallion, a well trained warhorse, rolled his eyes and began to stammer and dance about frantically in an effort to keep his footing. The shaking was phenomenal to the point that Nicoldani thought the world was coming to an end. Or perhaps the Gods themselves were going to punish him for his betrayal.

The ground continued to heave and pitch, as the long moments crept by endlessly, until finally, thankfully, all returned to calmness.

Nicoldani didn’t move, but remained on his hands and knees, stunned and shaking. Being a battle-hardened warrior, he had stared death in the face many times, but this! He was a big enough man to admit that it had scared him. He had never felt so powerless or helpless in his life.

As his wits began to return, he deliberately stood and carefully dusted himself off. A deep sense of loss abruptly poured over the big man and he grasped what had just happened, at least in part. The Tovani Warriors and priests of Ashteri must have failed. The wards had been broken and the Blood Witch was free once again on the world. The chilling prospect felt like icy fingers closing around Nicoldani’s heart threatening to rip it from his chest. Even in his despair, he said a small prayer for the priests and his brothers who had fallen at Gethseena.

Nicoldani realized suddenly, that he no longer felt the same bitterness and shame that he had felt, at least not the shame. It was replaced by determination, vengeance, and a new bitterness at the loss of his brothers. As long as his heart was still beating, he would not allow their deaths to be in vain. Now he was the last one left to bear the burden. His shoulders were wide, but even this load might be too much for Nicoldani to carry. However, a renewed sense of determination welled up inside him. He
would
carry the burden; there was no one else. He needed to succeed. He must succeed; there was no room for failure.

Nicoldani rose just before first light, anxious to be on his way, wherever it was. Surprisingly, he had slept better that night than he had in months. He was a soldier with a purpose once more, a duty that he must fulfill at all costs. He broke camp and started towards the village of Krapston, or whatever its name was, it mattered little. He should be able to reach the village in a few days.

As it turned out, the old man at Nilan hadn’t been far off, the village was called Kragston. It was a small village with only one tavern which also served as the inn. Very few travelers ever passed through Kragston, according to the fat innkeeper named Svenlag. “About the only time we get people needing an Inn is when the folks come down from Elsdon. They only do that maybe once a year. Even then, sometimes they stay with their kin at the edge of town. Other than that, not too many people make it all the way out here. Not too often anyhow.”

Svenlag was a talkative old man with a balding head and chubby cheeks. The buttons on his shirt strained a bit to fit is ample belly, but his shirt was clean and tidy. Overall, he was a kindly pleasant man.

Thankfully, he didn’t give Nicoldani the sidelong glances and wary looks that most country folk did. Nicoldani didn’t exactly blend in with these people, but instead he stuck out like an enormous sore thumb. His imposing size and implacable demeanor did little to ease their suspicions. The innkeeper was a different story though, pleasant, friendly and never seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Did you feel the earthshake a few nights back?” Svenlag asked excitedly.

“Well of course you did,” he said before Nicoldani could answer. “What do you suppose caused it?” again, Nicoldani had no chance to answer, even if he had one.

“They say in ages past, that the mountains up yonder,” the innkeeper gestured with his hand as if anyone could miss the tall peaks to the east, “they would get angry and spit fire and burning rock out of the tops of them. Don’t suppose it was that though, since there’s no fire or smoke coming from them.”

Nicoldani sat patiently waiting for the innkeeper to wind down. Finally after several minutes he seemed to run out of words, at least for a moment anyway.

“Have you ever heard the story of King Erlandas and his castle Bethvain?” Nicoldani asked casually over a draft of ale which the innkeeper had poured him. The ale was surprisingly good for such a small village. The innkeeper told him it was made from wheat brought down from Elsdon.”

“Oh surely I have,” Svenlag chuckled, “except it’s pronounced Arland, King Arland, and his great castle was called Bothvan.”

At least it was a little closer to the truth than the old man in the last village. As the innkeeper continued, Nicoldani’s hope began to grow.

“It was said, in the stories mind you, that there was once a great king. His name was Aaarland,” the innkeeper enounced slowly. “He was a good king, a kind man, serving justice and compassion equally.”

Nicoldani found himself wishing he had asked for the short version of the story.

“He, King Arland that is, had gained so much respect from his people that they wanted to make a monument to his greatness. So as it turned out, his magicians got together and raised a gigantic throne out of the ground for him. Not one to sit on, mind you, but one to rule from, like a monument. The magicians used their powerful magic to raise the valley floor up between the mountains.

His kingdom, Arlund that is, not the magicians, covered the whole endless plains on the eastern side of the mountains all the way to the sea…… So I guess the plains aren’t endless if they stop at the sea…
humph
…I wonder why they’re called endless then…… Anyhow, they raised up the valley floor between the mountains to make a gigantic
throne
where he could build his great Castle Bothvan. From there he could look out over his whole kingdom, and rule from the heights.

Some say if you climb to the top of the mountains and look out over them to the east you can see it. It looks like a giant throne with you standing on the back of it where he would lean his back against.” The innkeeper stood on his toes and leaned forward like he was looking over a cliff, and motioned down in front of him.

“The King that is, you know if he was that big, and sitting down on it, he would lean back against where you were standing. You would be right next to his head. Ha! That would be a sight to see wouldn’t it, a head that big!

Anyways, it’s all just a myth though. None of it actually happened. Folks just make up stuff like that sometimes. I suppose someone did climb to the tops of the mountains and figured that’s what it looked like to them, a giant throne anyway, so they made up a story to go with it. People like to make up stories you know, to explain things they don’t know. Or just to make ordinary things seem more exciting.”

Nicoldani began to feel his hope rising. This old innkeeper might think it was just a myth, but this was the closest to the truth Nicoldani had come on his long journey. He doubted the innkeeper had read the old histories, but his story was strikingly similar.

“Where was it supposed to be?” Nicoldani asked, “In these mountains here?”

“Yes, yes, according to the story that is,” Svenlag said gleefully.

“You can go up there. That’s where Elsdon is now. I wouldn’t advise climbing over the mountains though,” he said with a chuckle, “the Jagmerain pass will take you there quicker and easier. There’s a road of sorts, leading out of town to the south. You have to go down around the point and then double back up the pass. It’s about a days ride on horseback if you’ve got a good horse. You got a good horse?” Svenlag asked.

“Well of course you do,” the innkeeper said answering his own question, “you wouldn’t be all the way out here on a lame horse. You planning on going up there?”

“Possibly,” Nicoldani answered trying to sound uninterested. “It might be amusing to see a site of legend.”

“Indeed,” the innkeeper laughed, “it’s a sight to see even if it was just a story.”

“So will you be needing a room for the night? I can clear one out for you. It’s no trouble. You can’t make it all the way up to Elsdon before nightfall anyhow.”

Nicoldani accepted Svenlag’s offer graciously. It would be nice to spend a night in a bed instead of on the ground. Nicoldani could set out first thing in the morning for Elsdon.

“Here you go,” the innkeeper said as he handed Nicoldani another mug of ale. “This one is on me while we’re readying your room.”

Nicoldani was grateful for the innkeeper’s generosity. It had been a long time since he had a good strong mug of ale, even longer since he had enjoyed it.

The next morning Nicoldani set off for Elsdon, but not before he had a hot delicious meal. Elanor, the innkeeper’s wife, wouldn’t take no for an answer and all but forced the food on him. It was worth it though; it was the best meal Nicoldani had eaten it a long time.

The way through the pass was not too difficult but it was cumbersome and slow. Fallen rocks dotted the winding trail most of the way. In a few places, rock-slides had even covered the road completely. Nicoldani had to pick his way carefully through the loose rocks and dirt to make it through without injuring his horse or causing another slide. He was thankful he had not been in the pass at the time the earth shook, since it would have been an extremely dangerous place to be.

The tedious traveling conditions hampered his way so that it took Nicoldani most of the day to make his way through the pass. Finally, he topped the rise at the upper mouth of the pass and could look out over the valley below. It was nearing sundown by that time and the shadows were long. He had to admit it did look like a place out of the stories.

From this vantage point he could see a beautiful lake, several streams and a river as well as and a large lush green meadow encompassed by the surrounding mountain peaks. Nicoldani guessed if a person used their imagination, that it might look like a large throne in a way.

However, disturbing the placid scene was a grey-black plume of smoke rising in the distance. As he peered closer it looked like possibly two separate fires up ahead, but it was impossible to tell from this distance. The amount of smoke was too great to be cook fires and Nicoldani wondered what it might be.

He continued down the gentle slope, and the trees gave way to a green lush meadowland saturated with tall grass and wildflowers. The meadows abruptly became groomed flat farmland. It was obvious that people lived here and made good use of the rich dark soil, however it appeared a little unkempt. The fact that small weeds were making their way up between the larger vegetable plants was strange. Why would the people here take so much time to plow and plant this much land without maintaining it. The weeds were not overgrown by any means, but from what he had seen at other farms, the farmers in these parts were meticulous in maintaining their crops. After all, it was their livelihood since they depended on the crops to survive.

Nicoldani made his way across the fields until he could see clearly that there were three distinct plumes of smoke, from large fires up ahead. He could also make out well-constructed brick buildings which looked as if they had stood here for generations. He approached cautiously, since these backwoods folk could be a little touchy sometimes when it came to strangers. There was a tingling down his spine, which as a veteran warrior made him proceed with alertness and vigilance.

When he came near the first set of buildings, there was no one in sight. That was odd, since the residents should have been able to see him coming for some time across the fields.
Were they hiding from him?
Something didn’t feel right, almost as if this was a trap. There was an unnatural stillness that hung over the village, almost like a battlefield felt after a great battle.

Nicoldani continued to the next set of buildings a few hundred paces to the northeast, and as he approached, a dog ran out from behind the barn and began barking frantically at him. This was the first living thing he had seen so far, but obviously someone had to be maintaining the fires.

He surveyed the area, but the lack of any inhabitants was troubling to him. Judging by the number of houses, there should be at least twenty or thirty, or maybe even more people living here. Some of the buildings looked uninhabited, but most were in good repair and had the look of lived in homes.