Chapter 1

The Blood Queen looked out of the high window that faced the harbor and Shipyards. Crews of men and women worked all through the day as long as the light held out. Crews that could work by lamplight worked through the night. It would still be months before the first of the new fleet would be ready to sail. Getting the crews together was proving to be even harder. She had emptied the prisons to gain this new young body. This body was far more sensitive than her old one. She suspected it was due to not being forced to endure the pain of inserting the gems under the skin as she had done to her old body so long ago.

She looked at the bed and felt her body respond to the sight lying there. A teenage boy with the largest member she had ever seen waited for her to return. Her body called for it, demanded it. She had discovered right away the girl had been very sexually active, even at her young age. This body was broken in, accepting penetration in every way. She took a deep breath and stopped herself from mounting him again. She didn’t know how he managed it, four times just this morning already.

“As much fun as this has been, I have an Empire to run,” she told him. “Stick around, I will have need of you tonight.” He just watched as she was bathed by her lady’s, then dressed in a suit that showed every curve and bump on her body. He knew he was not going to survive when she grew tired of him, but at least he was sure he would die a happy man.

Aston Grey cursed his sudden and un-welcome fate. He had a great future ahead of him. A future as the Stable Master for the Baron of Ice Spine Reach. If not that, he could leave and set up shop elsewhere. He had the best skills as a Ferrier, a blacksmith, and leatherworking. All the skills needed in the care and handling of horses. He had even spent time working with a carpenter so he could work on carts, wagons, and some tools when the need arose.

Did he still have that future?

No.

The stupid little prick had ridden and killed the finest stallion in the Baron’s stables.

Did the Baron’s ire lay blame on his son where it needed to be?

No.

Did he act to prevent his little baby from doing more damage?

No.

He did send a short note to my father though. A simple note, informing him I was to be exiled for his stupid son’s lack of care and respect for the equine limits. ‘At least my father had me take the work wagon and a few horses,’ he thought as he drove towards the nearest large town. He had enough feed for the horses for two more days and food for a week for himself. He had been letting the horses graze, but it was never enough.

As he drove, he thought about the events leading up to the day he was sent away from the only home he had ever known. He had just turned twenty-one. A stranger that rubbed everybody wrong had passed through town and had delivered a box to Aston. He didn’t know who it was from, only that he was to deliver it to the son of the head of the stables at Ice Spine Reach. Once he had confirmed that Aston was the one to receive it, he mounted his horse and rode away at a full gallop, whipping his tired horse to make it run all the faster.

Aston took the strange heavy wood box to the kitchen and set it on the side table. His mother came over and asked about it. “I don’t know what it could be mother. It was delivered and the man road off like the demons of hell were after him.” Aston opened the latches that kept the lid sealed and slowly lifted the lid. It was stiff but he soon had it open and could see the contents. Inside was another small wood box. That was all, just a wood box, six inches wide, by three deep. How thick it was he couldn’t tell. It was a dark wood that was polished to a shine and looked hard. He didn’t know what the material was, but it seemed off in his eyes. He was able to lift the lid and quickly slammed it back down, sealing it. He closed the main chest and asked his mother to leave the room.

He had seen briefly an orange-colored sliver of a gem that glowed from within. In that brief instant, he felt a wave of pain and foul darkness wash over him. He wanted nothing to do with this thing. Why would somebody send him something so corrupt? He took the chest to a storeroom and buried it under a pile of other old boxes and covers. He hoped to never have to see it again.

The day he was to leave, he went to collect the chest to take with him. He had decided it would not be prudent to leave something so foul to infect his family should it ever be found. The chest was still there, but the sealed box that was inside was gone. Aston left that afternoon, hoping and praying that nobody would be hurt by whomever it was that had the evil stone.

He could tell that a village was nearby by the number of farms and wood cutters he had been passing all morning. He hoped he would be able to buy more feed and hay for the horses and food for himself while there. He also wanted to pick up a supply of additional coal or charcoal if he could afford it. He knew he would need it if he were to set up shop by the caravan yards and inns during his travels. They always required care for the horses and mules that pulled the massive wagons filled with cargo going east and west. This time of year, most were headed west to Fairham’s Cove. His father had informed him that he had an old friend that could help him get set up once there. He had included a letter of introduction to help ease the way.

Aston knew better but he had not been paying enough attention to his surroundings. He was slightly surprised when a lone figure stepped out from the copse of trees and held out a spear, blocking the road. The man began yelling, “Road toll mister, give me your gold, and I’ll let you pass.” Aston swore at himself under his breath for being so lax. He noted the clothing on the thief was ragged and worn. The weapon he held was an old pike that had seen better days. The metal point was rusted and looked quite dull. It would still do considerable damage to him and the horses though with a solid hit. The final observation was the man’s feet. He had rags wrapped around them for protection, rather than any sort of shoe. He knew this man was a true beggar-man thief. He had been told by a merchant you can always tell a man’s station and success in life by his shoes.

Aston stood, looking down at the sorry creature in front of him. He opened a waist pouch and pulled out a single gold coin and tossed it to the man who caught it, causing him to fumble his grip on the spear in the process. While he was distracted trying to recover his weapon, Aston pulled his coiled bullwhip from his side and flipped it out with a hard flick of his wrist. He pulled back and gave the fifteen-foot long whip an overhead spin, then lashed out at the would-be bandit. The leather tip struck the man’s right hand, the tightly bound tip cutting the back of the hand open. A second lash and the left hand was cut open. A third slash and a bloody line appeared across the man’s forehead, causing him to stagger back away from the sudden assault.

Aston said to the man, “You can pick up the sticker and walk away, or I can continue to cut you open until you are down and bleeding to death, your choice.” Aston remained standing, watching the man make his choice. When the man bent down, picked up the spear and started to back away, Aston made another mistake, he relaxed his guard.

The thief saw this and charged the horses to spook them. The horses reacted as expected and shied away from the yelling human. This, in turn, caused the wagon to jerk backward. Aston had not set the brakes, so the wagon was jarred by the sudden movement of the horses. Aston managed to catch himself and not fall towards the animals, but he did end up falling back on the driver’s bench, losing this grip on his whip, the handle falling to the floorboards. The man ran around the left side of the wagon, driving the spear up at where he thought the boy should be. Aston had not waited for the bandit to reach him. He had immediately dropped to the other side, reaching down and grabbed the whip handle before it slid over the side to the ground.

Aston had managed to grab it just as the spearhead smacked into the bench behind him. He heard the sound of wood cracking, but he didn’t take the time to look back to assess any immediate damage. He let himself continue fall to the right side, rolling over so he could grab the base of the bench to help turn himself around so he wouldn’t go down face-first into the road. He could hear the road agent cursing loudly now. It seemed that it was the rotten shaft of the spear that had broken when he had struck the bench, rather than the bench

Now Aston had to hurry if he was going to stop the man and protect himself and his property. He was on the ground and the man was in a position to climb up and take off with his stuff. He ran around the rear of the wagon in time to see the man start to try and climb up. The rags did little to protect his feet from the rough surface the climbing boards sported. They had been made that way to make mounting easier at night or if conditions were wet or slippery. Rather than try to come up behind the man, he snapped the whip at the closest horse just hard enough to cause it the jump and cause the wagon to jerk forwards. The unexpected motion caused the bandit who had made it up to the bench to fall over the backrest and into the tools where his body jerked, then went limp with a faint gurgling sound from his throat. The first thing Aston did now was to calm the horses. When he had them settled, he climbed up and looked at where the man had fallen and winced. The man had landed face-first into a tool rack and a sharp coal poker had gone into his mouth and out the back of his head.

‘Ok, that had to have hurt for an instant,’ thought Aston. He climbed back down and continued to calm the upset horses. The smell of fresh blood was upsetting them. Once they had settled back down, he tied a lead to a tree to keep them from trying to wander off, taking the wagon with them. Back in the wagon, he pulled the corpse loose and extracted to poker from the head. He tossed the body over the side then climbed down to examine it. He found nothing of value other than the single gold coin he had tossed the man as a distraction. He dragged the body into the brush beside the road. There was a deep ditch just beyond the bushes, so he dumped it in there. He figured the scavengers would feast well.

He cleaned the blood and bits of leaked brains out of the tools with a small amount of his freshwater. Then he scrubbed the blood from the floor of the cart and any that dripped on the bench while he pulled the corpse out. This chore completed, he checked his clothing and found a few spots of blood that would stain if he didn’t take measures to prevent it. The problem was, he didn’t have the materials to clean the cloth the way that was needed.

He decided it would wait and untied the horses from the tree and remounted the wagon. With a slap of the reins, he had the wagon moving once more. The rest of the day went quietly and nobody else troubled him as he moved towards the city to the south on the coastal trade roads. He wanted to link-up with a caravan heading west to Fairham’s Cove.

It was just before nightfall Aston pulled his wagon off the road into a glen. The glen had several stacked stone fire pits and piles of wood in small stone and wood shelters to keep it dry. This was a major stopping point for travelers to pull up for the night along this road. It also meant it was a hot-spot for bandits to hit, especially if the traveler was alone on the road like himself. Not wanting risk injury to his horses on a dark road, he decided this rest stop was the safer bet for the night.

Aston started a small cooking fire in the pit closest to where he had parked for the night. He hung a small pot of water over the pit and proceeded to take care of his horses. He released them from their harnesses and checked each hoof for damage. A lame horse at this stage would be a disaster. Not finding anything amiss, he loosely hobbled them and gave them long enough leads so they could forage overnight if they so desired. He had a small trough he could set out to feed them grain as well. He didn’t set it up tonight. He would put on feed bags in the morning so the horses would be happy. What he worried about was water. He had a single barrel filled with fresh water on the cart. Until he came across another source of fresh water, that would be all they had.

Aston wasn’t sure when any trouble might occur, but he did need to sleep. He knew the horses would act up if anybody tried to come to close to them. He ate a bit of boiled meat from the cooking pot, then banked the fire so he would have enough heat to cook his breakfast. He wasn’t in a hurry, so he could take the time to eat and care for his horses. As full dark set in, he wrapped himself in a blanket and soon drifted off into a dreamless, light sleep.

Back at the Baron’s house Ander stomped into the main hall and threw what would have amounted to a temper tantrum had he been three. “You sent him away?” he screamed in a red-faced rage. “I was going to teach him a lesson. Him, and his oh so perfect horses. His perfect shoeing. His perfect leather. I wanted to break him, show him I am his better in all things,” the young man screamed.

The Baron looked at his son, his mother ignored them both, being deep into her second bottle of wine for the night. “If you were his better, Shadowmeare would still be alive.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the boy screamed. “I want him dead!” He stomped to his father and tried to punch him. Ander wasn’t expecting his father to be able to deflect the blow, then hit him with a counter hard enough to put him out. The Baron looked at the crumpled body on the floor. “I should have drowned him when he was born,” he muttered.

It was several hours later when Andor woke up. He quickly realized he wasn’t in his room. The walls were of rough-cut stone, hard and cold to be laying on. It didn’t take him long to figure out he was in the prison under the keep. He screamed and hollered until his throat gave out. He couldn’t escape the heavy stone walls and thick, steel banded door made of thick oak planks. The room had one small window seven feet up, just below the stone ceiling. It was ceiling was eight feet up, completely beyond his grasp and ability to jump. He stood staring at it, watching as the light faded and night set in. The cell had a stone ledge that could be used as a bed, a hole in the floor in the corner furthest from the door to relieve himself in, and a trickle of water from a small pipe, waist-high on the wall, also across from the door in the opposite corner from the waste hole.

In the fading light, he went to the ledge and sat. He didn’t know how long he would be kept in prison, but once he was free, he would hunt that farrier down and kill him. That is if he ever got free. He drifted off to sleep, dreams, and nightmares haunting him in the dark. The dreams of a place far away and a creature that fed on the living souls around it. He woke several times and the cell was still in total darkness. The last time he decided to try and stay awake. The silence of the night though, that bothered him. He should be able to hear others that were locked up. He should be able to hear sounds from outside. As he sat, he could hear his heart beating. Soon he could hear each breath, the noises his stomach made. Even the normally faint ringing in his ears became unbearably loud.