The obsidian gates, p.1
The Obsidian Gates, page 1
The Obsidian Gates
Heart of the Warrior - Book Two
By
C.R. Richards
Copyright © 2017 C.R. Richards
All rights reserved.
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Dedication
For my Ninja Roadie, Brent. Thanks for being a loyal fan and an even better friend.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
People, Places, Things
About The Author
Other Books by C.R. Richards
Chapter One
Silver ribbons from a lonely moon fell in tatters through the fog about the docks. Their thin fabric touched the surface of dark water as it slapped against rotting wood. Nature's other voices had been silenced this night, as if Erthe was holding its breath. Julian D'Antoiné wrapped his cloak tighter about his body against the chill of an islander autumn night. He too felt the horrible anticipation as he waited for the heavy axe of war to fall.
A lone pillar stood broken amongst the cold waves. It was a testament of simpler times before airships and industry had come to these little islands. He gritted his teeth as another bit of metal from the abandoned dock struck the wood with a hollow thump. Storming toward his personal albatross, he gripped the man's arm as he was about to throw another noisy projectile.
“We're trying to avoid detection, Marcellus, not announce our presence to these Grey Cliff Islander bumpkins.”
“We wait in the darkness for a filthy thief with no honor.” Marcellus De Costa turned incredulous eyes upon him. “Why trust this mercenary scum, my lord prince? You have loyal men who could see the job done.”
He raised a hand again to toss the bit of metal, noticed Julian's glare and then placed it carefully atop a pillar. The deep, ill-formed indentation in his cheek paled to a sickening gray under the moonlight. Marcellus was a rabid dog. His own father had tried to put him down. Julian, at the Sarcion's wish, had saved him from public stoning. It was Marcellus' thirst for power, rather than gratitude, which kept him by Julian's side.
“Our friend can't resist the smell of money.”
“And what of Valdeon? The people need their prince to lead them when the storms of war come.”
Julian slammed a fist against the rotting wood of the railing. “The Lion Ring is the key to Valdeon's salvation.”
His Akutarian allies had come to Andara's shores promising Julian aid in taking the throne. Their lust for the continent's resources and wealth hadn't become clear until their Emperor had sent his general to oversee Valdeon's conquest. Lord Gorman was impatient to spill Andarian blood. If Julian didn't find the whelp who bore their father's ring soon, it would be Gorman upon the throne.
Hatred tightened around his heart in a painful embrace as he thought of the half-breed boy. A child of two ancient enemies, he was an abomination. No one would embrace his reign. Rather, he'd be given a painful death by an angry mob. It would be a kindness on Julian's part to kill the boy quickly, instead.
“You have left your ship against Lord Gorman's orders, Andarian.”
Two Jackal warriors stepped from the ruins of an abandoned boathouse. Julian took an involuntary step away from their gruesome visages. Blood encrusted braids fell across battle worn armor. The odor of their unwashed bodies drowned the stench of discarded fish entrails and stale brine. Teeth, yellow with age and neglect, escaped the confines of cracked lips as they grinned.
One of the Jackal warriors, a man with an empty left eye socket, stepped forward. He extended his hand palm up and began tapping the tips of his fingers together. Julian understood their culture well enough to know that they reserved the gesture for calling wayward harlots in their brothels.
“Why do you linger here? Guilt? No. I think not.”
“My vessel is in need of minor repairs. I have no interest in hovering over the crew as they perform menial tasks.”
“No doubt they were happy to be rid of you.” He turned toward his comrade. “Go. Inform Lord Gorman our wayward dog likes to roam when he's off leash. I will stay with the Andarian's ship until he reaches San Leonora.”
Obeying with surprising discipline for a barbarian, he left them as soundlessly as he'd arrived. Wrapped in armor and weapons, the Jackal warriors were infamous for their stealth and lust for blood. They were brutal killers who took joy in violence. Working in packs like their namesake, the Jackal were expert predators. Though he refused to tolerate their disgusting taunts, Julian took great care not to push them too far.
“Lord Gorman knew you'd try to go back on your word, prince of nothing. He told me to watch you like I would a cornered beast hiding in the darkness. Murdering your own kin for a trinket. I would say you were more of a vulture who should have its neck snapped.”
Then the man's remaining eye went wide. Blood dribbled from his open mouth. He dropped to filthy knees and onto the gray boards of the dock. Marcellus stood over the body, knife steaming with the man's blood.
“You should have listened to your lord.” He spat atop the body.
The mad fool had just signed his own death warrant. Lord Gorman had a disturbing way of knowing the desires in a man’s heart. One glare into Marcellus’ crazed eyes and the Jackal General would see what he’d done. Watching the euphoria upon his murderous companion’s face, Julian wondered if exposing the deed would be of benefit. Lord Gorman would most certainly kill him, leaving Julian with one less burden.
“What foul stench plagues us? It turns the stomach.”
Light burst from a lantern, removing their blanket of secrecy. Its owner leaned against the remains of a boathouse with arms folded and an amused look upon his face. The devil only knew how long he’d been watching them. Short blond hair bristled atop a sunburned scalp. Bronze pierced his ears in long rows of loops. A dull brown cloak hung over his loose-fitting trousers. Its filthy hem brushed at the rim of worn leather boots.
Known for stealth almost as much as for greed, mercenaries were the nomads of Andara. They held no allegiance to anything except wealth. His impertinence was no surprise.
“You're late, Cutter.” Julian stepped around the filthy body to join him at the edge of the light. “I should think you'd be on time for the large sum I'm paying you.”
Cutter shrugged and rubbed at the dirty blond stubble on his scarred chin. “You said you were interested in the boy. If you'd rather I come to hold hands with you in the dark, so be it.”
“You know where he is?”
“He escaped Marianna on a cargo airship. They'll land here on Larkspur soon. I have men waiting on the docks.” Cutter let the greedy smile cross his face. “So many men to feed and arm. It may take a few extra coins to see the job done.”
“Do you think I care about the cost?” Julian shoved a dagger under his chin. “Listen well. Find the boy. He has a ring I want. Cut it off his hand if necessary once you've killed him. Bring the ring to me in Valdeon within three days’ time or I'll send my new friends to fetch you.”
“My Dirge is going to accompany you to find the boy. It will keep you true to your word.” Julian grinned as Cutter paled and took a step away from the creature. “If I may offer a word of advice? Don't come between it and a meal.”
Julian nodded at the Dirge and turned away when it pounced upon the body. Chewing flesh and bone, the creature began to devour its feast. Raw, frenzied hunger drove the Dirge to near madness as it ate. They were difficult to control at the best of times. Bloodshed turned them feral.
“You'd better hurry, Cutter. This body should sate its hunger for a few days, but I can't promise the creature won't turn feral if you're delayed.”
“You've made your point,” Cutter said, disgust upon his face. “I think I've been properly motivated to kill this boy of yours.”
Julian pushed past Cutter, leaving him to stare unabashedly at the feasting Dirge. Money was an excellent motivator for most, but no one could stand against the fear of certain death. He took a happier pace across the rotting docks. The Lion Ring would soon be upon his finger. Lord Gorman hadn't secured the throne of Valdeon quite yet.
Chapter Two
Seth McCloud stretched atop a bundle of woolie wool to make use of the delicious fresh air washing over his face. He breathed in the salty fragrance of the ocean passing beneath their airship. A small patch of starry sky peeked through the crack between hatch and cargo hold. His amber flecked eyes stared up at the cold stars. They'd witnessed a great many things from their perch above the world of man. His mother's murder, the raid on his island home, and the assassination of his father were shared memories between them.
Shifting his gaze to the Lion Ring upon his finger, he waited for a sign. Its power had come to him a few hours before as he protected the people of his island home from raiders. The ancient spirit living within the heart crystal had readily given him its wisdom then. Now the lion head seemed content to float quietly in the center of its stony belly as Seth's blood rose and fell about its mane. He slapped the ring’s silver band against his thigh with an impatient sigh.
Riley Logan thrust his nose into the thin patch of air, gulping in the sea breeze and releasing it again with grateful sighs. “I’ll have angry words for my brother Tom. Hide in the cargo hold, he says. Never mentioned how foul it would be down here.”
Massive bundles of woolie wool, produced by Riley's family and other farmers on Marianna, filled the hold. Known as the finest wool in Andara, it could only be found on their little island home. In the rush to escape, the crew had left barrels of salted lamb and some sort of smoked fish stashed among the bundles. The mix of odors was nauseating.
Boots clomped on deck, stopping a few feet from the tiny opening. Seth pushed Riley into the bundles of wool and leapt after him. They waded through the itchy material toward the shadows of the hold. A larger patch of indigo sky opened above their heads.
“You there. The hatch has come open. Would you have miles of woolie wool wasted upon the waves? Go stow the cargo!”
“Aye, Captain!”
Two sailors dropped gingerly onto the topmost bundles. The youngest, a thin towheaded man with a ragged red cap, gave a quick nod. Waiting for the Captain's back to disappear, he scurried down among the bundles. His companion, a bulky bald man with a rough beard and squinting eyes, reluctantly followed.
Light burst into the hold as he activated the crystal lantern. Seth and Riley ducked their heads down behind the barrels of smoked fish as the beam from the lantern penetrated the darkness beside them. Resisting the need to scratch, Seth kept his body perfectly still.
“Look there, Artie,” the thin sailor said. “Someone’s gone and squashed a bundle.”
“You think stowaways maybe, Nate?” Artie wiped at his large runny nose. “Captain don’t like stowaways. Threw the last one overboard right in the middle of the straights.”
Seth gripped the hilt of his sword. He didn’t want to fight. It had been a night of killings. He willed the bloody memories from his thoughts. Their survival depended on Seth staying strong. Grief and fear must wait until they were certain their hunters were no longer following them.
“It weren’t no stowaway. The rope's come untied,” Nate grumbled. “You was supposed to tie down those bundles.”
“Get off it! How can you expect me to do the job with all those killings in Haven Bay? I've never seen raiders so keen to take a town in my life. They've gone barmy if you ask me. Hurry on, Nate.” Artie sneezed and brought a filthy linen to his nose. “Why don't we tell the Captain the job’s done and go to the galley?”
“Aye,” Nate said with a snort. “Warm rum at the table is better than playing tickle the bundle with you in this here hold. I need to steady my nerves.”
The two sailors tumbled back to the deck, slamming the hatch closed after them. Seth lifted his eyes, but the indigo sky and all its stars disappeared. A sharp click echoed in the belly of the hold as the latch shoved home, locking the hatch firmly in place.
“The last of the fresh air,” Riley murmured, flipping on the small crystal lantern his brother had given them.
“It’s a short flight to Larkspur.”
Fabric brushed irritably against fabric as Riley made himself comfortable among the bundles. Seth left his friend to his thoughts. They'd both seen horrors in this night of madness neither would soon forget. He leaned against a barrel and closed his eyes. They were safe for the time being.
How odd his life had become. A week ago, he had been living the simple life of a Grey Cliff Islander. Tonight, he was hiding from savage creatures who were bent on killing him for the Lion Ring upon his finger. All the horror and killing over the past few days had been born of one chance meeting seventeen years before. His mother, Anne McCloud, had fallen in love with a man who'd borne the blood of her family's greatest enemy. Trying to hide her son from the world, she'd brought them to a small, remote island well off the coast of Andara.
It wasn't until their enemies had found his mother at last did the truth come to light. Her murder brought his father, Edmund D’Antoiné, to Marianna. He'd told Seth of the truth behind his mother's well-intended lies. He'd also given to Seth an awesome responsibility passed from father to son. Edmund the Leo had been a famous ranger in the Jalora Legion on the mainland of Andara. He'd named Seth his heir and placed the Lion Ring upon his finger. Through an unspeakable act of treachery, his father’s past caught up with him. Edmund had died in Seth's arms.
He smoothed at the iridescent stone encased in silver. The ring had been put on his finger less than a day ago, yet it seemed they'd been together for much longer. The lion head turned within the stone to regard him and then looked back out into the nothingness. Still it remained silent with no offer of direction for its bearer.
The airship's thrusters roared. He threw an arm out trying to steady his body. The ship was sinking faster now, taking Seth’s stomach with it.
“Great gulls!” Riley cried.
“They’ll be down to unload the cargo in a moment,” Seth told him, switching off the lantern. “We’ll wait for our opportunity and hide on one of the lifts going to the docks.”
The ship shuttered one last time and was still. Shouts and stomping boots headed toward the cargo hold. Predawn sky opened above their heads and suddenly the hold became a flurry of activity. Sailors with nets and ropes began rolling the bundles of wool into the waiting rigging. It wouldn't be as easy catching a lift as he'd hoped. They missed two loads before they found their opening as one of the sailors paused for a drink of water. They dove on top of the bundles and twisted down inside until they could not be seen from the top or the bottom of the net.
“Hoist away!”
Their net was lifted with jerking pulls into the air. He heard Riley yelp something about the height and chose not to look down as they swung across the emptiness. The moment the bundles touched the docks of Larkspur Port, Seth and Riley bolted into the crates of another shipment.
Seth peered carefully over the top of a nearby crate, scanning the docks. Men and mules pulled at the cargo ropes in the dim torch lights. Their movements cast shadows upon the nearby water while the rest of Larkspur was hidden under the blanket of darkness. Labored grunts as rope rubbed upon pulleys made the dull music of the docks. Try as he might, Seth couldn't hear anything over the rhythm.
