Dark Blade Forged: The Dark Blade Trilogy, #1

Chapter 1: To the Watch Tower

As dusk lost the last edges of light, and the heavens darkened to cloudy night, Dan heard his mare’s hooves clack on cobblestone. After many hours traveling on the dirt roads, they must have reached the outer edge of a Watch Guard Tower, but he could only distinguish silhouettes reaching into the obsidian sky. The heat of the afternoon had given up its battle to the evening chill. Weary from the ride, Dan struggled to sit upright. The nearness of the keep’s walls gave him relief. He leaned forward, forced his sore legs to tighten, and his mare picked up her pace to match the strides of the horse ridden by Watch Guard Quinn, the stocky, sandy-haired man who had taken Dan and his two fellow recruits from their homeland. As apprentices to the Watch Guard, they would become set apart from nation or city-state, at least for a time.

Quinn’s leather armor rustled as he turned to glance over as Dan drew near. He waved toward the shape of the building up ahead. We’re almost to the outer defenses.

Dan’s tiredness gave over to nerves and excitement. The next moments could transform his whole life. He had to create a favorable impression and was not sure if he had with Watch Guard Quinn. The warrior had an inscrutable countenance. Quinn carried a blade of power and he had taken them on a day’s journey with no signs of fatigue. Dan had been struggling not to slump in his seat for several hours, and his doubts fell heavy in his thoughts. He knew his blade, while of fine make befitting the son of a merchant baron, was nothing compared to one of the legendary weapons of power. Even so, he hoped. The King had sent them here. If his apprenticeship established his abilities, he could leave his past and join the legendary inter-kingdom agency of the Watch Guard, through which men and women worked to safeguard ancient secrets and protect all the kingdoms of Aramatir from the misuses of power and sorcery.

He cast about for a technique to intrigue Quinn, to impress him. I did not observe anyone on duty as we approached. Are there magical wards?

Quinn chuckled quietly. Your sight is not trained enough to notice our protections. He clucked at his mount and moved to the lead position again.

Embarrassed, Dan fought to see more in the gloom. How did Quinn maneuver so easily? Was it related to his blade of power? Some swordsmen gifted with such blades had remarkable abilities that resembled magic, although they swore they did no sorcery. Dan could barely discern sufficient details to measure how close the keep was in relation to him. Thankfully, his mare had no trouble trailing Quinn’s horse. Behind him, the other two horses click-clacked onto the stone path, carrying their riders.

The three of them had not spoken since that morning, not since the skinny redhead dressed in tradesman robes had made an attempt at conversation and found both Dan and Alex to be curt. Dan felt bad about that. Farrald, with his freckled face and soft-spoken demeanor, might be an agreeable fellow. But he had no desire to start a conversation with Alex, who had every reason to be angry with Dan, and who traveled at the rear.

Torchlight brightened a barbican ahead, a defensive, walled structure that loomed above the portcullis. They were here, wherever here was. Without having a compass or a map to consult, Dan wasn't sure. Watch Guard Towers were situated in various countries, both within and at the borders, and sometimes doubling as lighthouses along the coastlines.

Nobody here cared about his background. He would have a chance. Could he prove his worth? He clenched his dark fingers on the reins he held and then willed them to relax. He had to. He would not return to his parents. While his father had ambitions and clever plans to gain more influence within the prestigious court of nobility, Dan would rather live away from such politics and the gatherings full of flattery and manners. He wished for purpose, for time filled with the necessary training to protect others. If he could become a Watch Guard, he would be called to a higher purpose than any single nation offered, and he would be free from his father’s machinations.

Ahead of him, Quinn paused outside the building and tilted his head up to speak to a hooded figure above them. Three trainees and Quinn reporting. His craggy face, lit by the blaze of nearby torches, seemed awake and lively, as if they had been out on a pleasant afternoon excursion and not riding from daybreak into the depths of night.

Marked. A woman’s husky voice answered him.

Dan strained his eyes and made out an armored silhouette standing on the rampart. She wore a hood that shrouded most of her upper body, and the torch smoke appeared to twist around her.

Before them, the iron grating rose, drawn up by pulleys. The sharp ends of the portcullis reminded Dan safeguards came in many forms, like strong ramparts, heavy doors, guards, and strategic planning.

Quinn beckoned to Dan and the others. We’ve arrived, gentlemen. He smirked at his closing choice of word for them, clucked at his horse, and proceeded through the opening.

Dan’s stomach churned with anticipation, hope, dread, and longing, all at once leaking out of him, leaving him hollow. With his fists clenched against his fear, he leaned forward, and his mare stepped through the archway. Dan noted the tiny holes above him, prepared for defensive strategies, and then refocused on the courtyard ahead.

He could hear the other horses following, then the grinding of the portcullis coming down behind them. Ahead, across a wide square, sconces illuminated a high opening that ended in a three-sided stable. Quinn had already gotten out of the saddle and was leading his horse into the building.

Dan prepared to dismount by shifting in his seat. As he swung his leg over and down, his muscles spasmed, and he gripped the pommel of his saddle as his feet landed on the large paving stones. His legs nearly collapsed beneath him, but he held on. When he regained his balance, he led his mount into one of the stalls. She whickered at the sight of the hay.

Quinn tended his own horse with the unhurried grace of someone practiced at doing the chore, his movements smooth and automatic as he took off her tack and saddle, placing them on racks provided for them.

As he watched, Dan realized there wouldn’t be stable hands or servants here. It was one thing to know that objectively and another to understand what that meant at the end of a long ride. Nobody else would care for his steed but him, so he had work to do for half a candle mark. It was labor he understood how to do, as his Sword Master had taught him, but it was not a task he was accustomed to doing regularly.

As a Junior Lord of Septily, Dan knew he had a lot to learn about living as a common-born individual. Knowing he never wanted to return to the capital of Skycliff as a noble, he could push his fatigue and muscle soreness aside to do what he needed to do.

Chapter 2: Reality Sets In

Dan unbuckled his saddlebags, dropped them in the corner by Quinn’s belongings and relieved his mare of the saddle, harness and tack. As he hung them up on the provided hooks, he ran his fingers across the Torren House crest stitched into the saddle flap. While he had no desire to join his parents in any of their intrigues or dealings, he would miss the house insignia. The golden lion rampant above a black storm cloud had always filled his imagination with ideas of courage and nobility. Everything his father was not. Shaking his head, he dropped his fingers from the familiar heraldry. The Watch Guard had their own symbols, which mainly consisted of recurring imagery with a shield overlaying crossed swords, sometimes with a compass rose depicted in the center of the shield.

Following Quinn’s lead, he found a soft brush and combed his mare’s summer coat. The warmth her flanks had preserved his strength during the lengthy journey. While he brushed out her velvety fur, Dan leaned into her shoulder, savoring the comforting solidness of her presence. The stable was warmer than the outer courtyard, but the sweat of his nerves chilled him. So far, his worries had been for nought. It seemed his true testing would begin tomorrow, and while he should be thankful, he was also worried. Was he truly prepared?

Horses are wonderful, aren’t they? voiced Farrald, the lean redhead who had attempted conversation earlier. He brushed his mare with light strokes, swaying back and forth in happy movement. In this torchlight, his freckles were muted against his tan. While he appeared to be someone who would naturally have paler skin than Dan, he had obviously spent many hours in the sunlight, and he had the faint accent of the Desert District of Septily.

Yeah. Dan did not want to be rude, but with the war of nerves and exhaustion, he was not sure what to say. He noticed how soft his dark hands were even with the callouses from his sword training. His ancestors had once been traveling merchants of the Southern Continent, but they had moved to Septily and joined the First Champion Elar in fighting against the Dark One, gaining a title and a barony in the process. Generations later, Dan’s family lived sumptuous lives of landed merchant barons, living off the profits of trade deals created by their forefathers. Dan almost felt jealous of Farrald. What must it be like to live a life in which you could be valued for your hard work, and not how you fit into the power plays of your parents?

Farrald did not seem to take offense at Dan’s reticence, as he combed his horses’ mane with loving strokes, running his other hand after the brush in rhythm. He began to sing a hymn from the sanctuaries. Amazing light, amazing love, God, you are faithful to us.

Dan cocked his head, surprised. He did not join in with the song. But the tune and the words felt familiar. His family attended worship at the Triune Halls in Skycliff, but they were not devout. His faith was something private, and no one wanted to hear his off-key voice. He wondered what Alex would think of Farrald's open faith.

Alex had ridden his horse to the edge of the stable and still sat there, not dismounting. He had a sulky look on his pale face, his lips pouting, his eyebrows drawn down, and a lock of his blonde hair drooping halfway over one side of his face. His purple silk shirt and brown leathers were covered in road dust, as all of them were. He peered into the stable. Is there no one here?

We tend our own horses, recruit, Quinn said, not looking up from where he curried his mare.

Alex shifted in his saddle, frowning deeper. My father would not approve.

He did. That’s why you’re here. Quinn arched an eyebrow at Alex, and then turned his back on him. He walked over to a water pump, filled the bucket, then filled his horses’ trough.

Alex huffed, then slid down from his horse, wincing as his fine leather boots hit the paving stones. That was an awful ride.

Dan shifted to the other side of his mare, continuing to brush her down as she ate her well-earned hay. He glanced back at Alex, wondering if he knew how to rub down a horse.

Alex fumbled with a clasp on the girth of his saddle.

Here, I can help. Farrald started to move toward Alex.

No. Quinn frowned, deepening the lines around his mouth. Show him. That’s all. No helping.

Alex sighed heavily. Thank you, Farrald. The saddle slid off his mare and landed in a heap on the ground, including his personal bags. He awkwardly picked it all up and tripped over a dangling strap.

Dan bit his lip. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, laugh or show any pleasure in Alex’s discomfort, but the sight had been satisfying. Even if Alex had every right to be angry at him, he hadn’t wanted Alex to come along on this journey. The King had granted him his hope of being a recruit to the Watch Guard, but he had sent Alex with him. He was not sure which of them was being punished more.

Farrald did not know what Dan knew, and he did not laugh. If you unstrap your saddle bags and sling the straps over the main saddle, it will be easier to carry. And when you remove your mare’s bridle, be extra gentle and give her a good rub on the cheek, so she knows you’ll be kind. She won’t fight you.

Alex did not thank Farrald for his advice, but he did as Farrald had instructed. Alex glared at Dan when he spotted him staring.

Dan filled his mare’s bucket with more grain and filled her water trough, as a way of continuing his work and ignoring Alex. It was not Dan’s fault Alex was here. Well, maybe it was, but this was better for Alex than what he could have been doing. Even if Dan did not want Alex here, he knew Alex needed to get away from the capital as much as he did, even if Alex did not understand that.

After they had finished giving their mounts their much-deserved rubdowns and all the care they needed, Quinn guided them into the structure behind the stable. It was a long, low room between stone walls, not really part of the castle proper, but an adjacent building between the stable and the castle. A row of slim beds took up one wall, with an open walkway on the other side.

With a touch of a smile, Quinn waved at the beds. Here’s where new recruits stay until we sort them into their cadres before their induction to the Watch Guard as apprentices. The privy’s down at the end. There’s a washbasin by the castle wall. Extra blankets are in the chests at the end of the beds. He locked gazes with each of them in turn, ending with Dan.

Dan rooted himself solidly under the man’s measurement. Understood, Quinn.

Quinn pivoted on his heel and left them there.

This isn’t so bad, Farrald said, and he immediately placed his leather helmet on the bunk closest to the door of the stables.

Dan shook his head at him. Don’t sleep there, there’s a draft.

Farrald shrugged and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed he had already claimed. I can be closer to my horse this way.

I will take the bunk closest to the castle, Alex said. He opened the chest at the end of his chosen bed, and then opened the chest for the cot next to his. Once he had four extra blankets on his bed, he shucked off his boots, helm, breastplate, and weapons’ belt, then curled up under the covers with his back to them. His saddlebags were still in the stable.

Dan chose a cot in the middle of both. He used both the extra blankets from his chest, and he carefully organized his helm, boots, bags, breastplate, and belt in the chest before closing the lid. He did not want spiders or bugs in his things. As he lay down with his sword tucked under the thin mattress, he noticed Farrald gazing at his trunk. Farrald got up and placed his belongings in his chest. Good idea and good night, Farrald said. He snuffed out the torch in the barracks.

The dim light from the stable yard flickered through the small window shafts by the roof. Dan heard Alex breathing raggedly like he was crying, but he did not get up and check. He was sure Alex would not appreciate it. For a time after that, he could hear Farrald murmuring a prayer, but then his words became deep breathing. No one stirred. Dan’s mind whirled, but the depths of his weariness finally overwhelmed his worries.

Chapter 3: A King's Dilemma

Shedding his bejeweled royal robe which weighed on his shoulders nearly as much as his ostentatious court crown, King Xandros retreated to his private suite with only his oldest friends, Sword Guard Theran and Shepherd Jordan. They wore their early middle age with grace, as they continued to train with each other and instructors daily. Even with his hectic agenda of meetings with the Triune Council, the Court of Nobles, and the Court of Commoners, Xandros maintained his training schedule to stay fighting fit for self-defense. Like his father before him, he wore the trappings of royalty, but always with fabrics and tailoring meant for ease of movement.

With his ornate purple robe draped on a custom stand and his twinkling crown safely placed in a designated case, Xandros relaxed and reclined heavily in his cushioned chair, releasing the tension in his back. What he did here in this private space often had a greater effect on the citizens of Septily than anything else, and yet, he felt more at ease here than he did in court. Tonight was the same, and he needed a moment with his closest friends before he had to send them away on dangerous missions. After the recent tense meetings with the Court of Nobles, and the accusations of political manipulations by various factions, both Theran and Jordan stood stiffly on the other side of his mammoth desk, as if they had forgotten they could relax with him.

Xandros found his focus shifting to the portrait of his son which sat near his elbow. His son’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and open smile reminded him of more carefree moments. He believed innocence still resided in his son, even after his recent debacle. The boy reminded him of his late wife, and that had been his undoing when it came to raising him. Whenever he looked at his son, his sorrow at the loss of his beloved wife overcame him. So, he had allowed the boy to be raised by others, and that was pure foolishness.

In his discomfiture, he shifted his thoughts to his friends again. Their jaws were tight. Their brows furrowed. Seeing them distraught brought the tension back to his shoulders and he closed his eyes.

After the discovery and closure of the Red House, a vile brothel filled with slaves, he could not fault his friends for their stiff demeanors. The insidious infiltration of their society by those who traded in human flesh had been growing over the recent years, with several of the Red Houses opening in different locations about the city, and none had been able to put an end to it. If he guessed correctly, both Theran and Jordan blamed themselves for thinking they had fixed the issue already, while he was certain the responsibility fell solidly at his feet. Out of the three of them, he was at the top of the Courts of Law, while Theran and Jordan owed their first allegiance to the Triune Council, and their respective areas of expertise, the Swords of Defense and the Shepherds of Faith.

He missed their youth, despite the solid measures of training interspersed with all their play. They had always been together. Their parents had not only been friends, but all had been firm believers in the Triune God, and so raised their children as close to the faith as they could, with Theran trained in Sword Mastery, Jordan brought up to Shepherd, and with Xandros educated in the Law. When his parents had sought out children to be his closest companions, they had chosen Theran and Jordan, with the aid of the Triune Council, so all had received cross-disciplined schooling.

As he reminisced about their childhood, he pondered his son’s life. Alex had not undergone the same training, not developed the same friendships, and he was suffering for it. Sending Alex to apprentice with the Watch Guard was Xandros’s attempt to make up for a childhood of soft living among the nobility and the bad training of foreign governesses who did not understand the ways of the Triune Halls or Septily.

Xandros fixed his attention on the painting of their family hanging on the wall. It had been created when his beloved Roseanne had been alive. Her blue-eyes held fathomless depths. Roseanne, a lady of the Ryssorrian Court, had not understood the Triune Halls’ traditions and how they affected the monarchy of Septily. Believing he would rectify this lapse when Alex got older, Theran allowed her to raise Alex in the Ryssorrian way. When she had passed, he had been consumed with grief. This enabled the kingdom to become weak.

Furthermore, he had consented to Alex being pampered by his wife’s old governess, without proper instruction as his heir. The Watch Guard could provide a base for Alex to learn what Xandros had been unable to teach him. With Dan and Farrald at his side, Alex might find the close friendship he needed with those of other disciplines to succeed as King of Septily, who was legally held in check by the Triune Halls’ Council.

His friends had remained at attention as he ruminated. Theran’s tan, middle-aged countenance remained somber, with his keen hazel eyes fixed on the maps on the desk. His fitness for duty was pronounced by his trim and muscular appearance, despite the mix of gray and dark hair at his temples. His black and purple uniform designated his role as the Head of the King's Guards, and of course, it was impeccably kept. The breastplate of hammered steel gleamed in the light of the room’s lamp and firelight. Theran was a rare fighter who fought with both hands and carried two blades, a sword of power and a long knife. He preferred a two-blade fighting style over the usual kind featuring a sword and shield. While taller than most men, Theran had a natural and trained ability with incredibly fast reflexes.

Next to Theran, Jordan was a study of contrasts. While his face remained youthful and luminous with inner joy, his hair had gone prematurely white. Like Theran, his purple and white tunic, pants, and robes of the Hall of Shepherds were impeccable, and marked him as the King’s Shepherd, only second to the High Shepherd on the Triune Council. His lean figure wrapped in his loose attire fooled some into believing he wore the blade belted at his hip as decoration, but he was a keen and intelligent fighter. In addition to his sword, he carried a copy of the sacred scriptures and a plain staff. Jordan’s sharp blue eyes concentrated on a tapestry map of the known world of Aramatir, with Septily depicted at its center.

Directing his attention to the map, Xandros knew he did not have the luxury to enjoy the evening with his friends. They had work to do, but perhaps they could at least enjoy a good repast. He waved at the sideboard filled with a buffet of finger foods his steward had brought earlier, and then the comfortable chairs opposite to him. Please, take sustenance. We have serious matters to discuss, and none of us do well on empty stomachs.

Theran checked the lock on the door before turning to face him. Majesty, I am your protector here, as always, and the recent events make me uneasy, even here in your private study. We must remain vigilant to stop the Red Hand from creating more of their Red House establishments in Skycliff.

Xandros sighed. I agree, but please stop standing at formal attention and calling me ‘Majesty’ in the privacy of my study. This room is secure. You have placed layers of security between me and the rest of society. If I am confined like this, I will never know what it is like to truly live in Septily or feel the freedom I hope our citizens have.

Theran’s hand drifted to his helm, which hooked to his belt during his most relaxed moments of guarding Xandros. The freedom that allows assassins to lurk close to you? Or the freedom your son Alex had when he went to the very criminals we keep trying to erase from Skycliff and attempted to procure more than conversation from a woman in the Red House, provided by that cruel organization the Red Hand?

Jordan tutted in disagreement, crossing his arms over his chest. We cannot judge Alex. We do not know he went to the Red House for such ill purposes. He loved his mother, and he has never treated any woman poorly.

Theran snorted. There is only one motive for someone who goes to the Red House. You know that, Jordan.

Jordan held up his hands. I have never been there for any purpose than to shut one down. Even if we assume Alex went there to do something unworthy, we can hope he did not truly understand the circumstances in which those women are brought to the Red House.

Theran scowled. He cannot be so naïve. He walked over to the sideboard and snatched up a few slices of cheese and some brown bread.

Xandros had heard enough of their conjecturing. When he had learned of Alex’s foolishness late in the evening a few days prior, the two of them had been retired for the evening. His other Sword Guards had done their jobs and had kept his confidence. He knew Theran and Jordan would be angry, for he had created arrangements that they did not know about, and feared the parting he must endure. He dropped his head to his hands for a moment in a wordless cry of prayer for his friends, for his son, and for his kingdom.

He felt someone touch his hands, and knew from the softness of that touch, it had to be Jordan. This was confirmed by his friend’s words.

Lord of Light, we need your guidance.

Amen. Theran said in response, his voice grim.

Sitting up straight with a determination not to let them down, Xandros tapped the papers on his desk. Alex could be so naïve, and that is why I decided on the punishment I gave him. He has been too sheltered and does not truly understand the traditions of our kingdom or this office. I have sent him to train with the Watch Guard. They prepare him for the right path. Instead of focusing on his punishment, I would like us to consider the methods in which he discovered the Red House, and how the establishment opened again, in a new location, after we closed the last one.

Xandros unrolled a map of Skycliff. Red marks dotted the map, showing all the previous sites of the Red House within the city’s walls. He was warming up to his revelation. He hoped his friends would forgive him for waiting to share it.

Jordan poured himself a glass of mead and picked up a piece of bread. He fixed his attention on the map. They have a system of transporting their slaves into the city that we are not seeing. At first, it seemed the port must be vulnerable, but we have not found any leads there. I’ve had apprentices working on it.

Theran leaned over the map, tracing his fingers from one red mark to another. My people, in disguise, have not seen a pattern or a transportation method for this operation either, and I had hoped they would be more effective than the Shepherd apprentices. No disrespect to you, Jordan.

Xandros pointed to the unofficially named Inner Circle, which