A Redemption

By J S Eaton

A Redemption-The Legend of Tscon Lightbringer Book One. This is the first book in the Legendary Aeonith Series. Tscon Lightbringer is a troubled man with a dark past. After running for over a decade, trying to soothe his conscience by doing good deeds, fate at last presents him with a chance for redemption. But is he willing to face the truth of what he's done?
Tscon has been hiding from his past, trying to soothe his tortured soul by helping every person he comes across, in the hopes of finding that one deed that will absolve his guilt. At long last he realizes that only by facing that past can he finally move beyond it. Fate intervenes, offering him that one chance, but is he strong enough to take it? And will he be able to accept the consequences of his actions from so long ago?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J S Eaton
• Release date: Aug 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301999163

J S Eaton

J S Eaton is a lover and writer of fantasy fiction. His exciting new world of Aeonith is full of fantastic creatures, exciting places and exotic cultures. Look for his science fiction, thrillers, and other fiction coming soon!

Book preview

A Redemption

The Legend of Tscon Lightbringer

Book One

Copyright2011 by J.S. Eaton

Smashwords Edition

No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form, without the express written consent of the copyright holder. All names, places and characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, or places is purely coincidental.

A Redemption Written by J. S. Eaton

This book is dedicated to my loving wife Shannon, and our precious children, Morgan and Breanna. Without their love and support this book would not be possible.

Prologue

The howling wind was whipping through the plains, as if a great dragon were flapping its wings. The fierce gale blew back a lithe woman's black hair, and pushed her thick red robes against her body. Despite the harsh wind and all the small debris it was whipping up, her gaze set against the feeble-looking old man standing opposite her. For a moment, the two of them said nothing, locked-in a battle of wills, who would blink first in the face of the storm. Eventually, the old man won, and the tall, raven haired woman cursed under her breath. The old man smiled. After savoring his small victory for a moment, he spoke.

You have been given extraordinary power; try to use it wisely, as it is only temporary. Fulfill your mission, and you will awarded with an even greater power, and it shall be permanent. I trust you are ready?

I have been ready for ages, old man. Give me the name, so I can fulfill my duty quickly. I want what is owed me. The woman's voice was filled with anger.

You will bring down the one called Lightbringer. You will find him on the southern road out of the capital. Do not kill him immediately. You must follow him, and wait for him to acquire a book in an old abandoned village. Only then can you eliminate him. Bring the book to us, in the appointed place. Do this, and you shall have the skill of the finest warriors, and the power of the greatest wizards. Remember, we must have the book, wait until he gets it before you move against him.

She chafed at the idea of not killing this Lightbringer person as soon as she found him, but she wanted the power these old men were offering.

You promised me a seat on your precious Council of Archmages as well. Be sure to keep my chair empty until I get back.

She bowed slightly, smiled softly, and then disappeared right before his eyes. The old man seemed unimpressed by her sudden departure. After a moment, he too smiled. A voice appeared out of thin air, coming from nowhere, it seemed.

She's too reckless; it's a mistake trusting her. One of mine should go.

One of yours would fail. The old man shot back. Her training in the Order combined with our magical power is the only chance we have of stopping him. If he does not die, then we will have no choice but to go to war.

The disembodied voice did not respond, and soon the old man disappeared as well, leaving only the howling wind on the barren plains.

Chapter One

Helping Others

Which are better, blondes or redheads! This heady question served as the main topic of conversation in the dimly lit tavern. Arguments immediately erupted over the answer, and the noise of everyone shouting at once momentarily drowned out anything else that was said. This is the Blue Mermaid, one of the capital city's many fine drinking establishments, fine measured in how much the owner watered down the ale. Intelligent discussions such as these could be regularly within its walls, and one could rest assured the topics would be thoroughly discussed.

It was a loud and dirty place, much like any other business whose job it was to keep people drunk, and parting with their money. The common room was huge, as the Blue Mermaid was one of the largest taverns in the entire capital city of Syre. Smoke filled the entire room with the smells of fine aged tobacco, and a few other smells that were clearly not tobacco. Most of the patrons in this particular tavern were not city-folk, but an odd mixture of travelers, mercenaries, and various other types whose professions were often dangerous. They were gathered here to unwind and relax with a little talk and a lot of beer. The clamor of conversations seemed to die down after a bit, until another equally intellectual question was posed.

One person who hadn't yet joined the conversation was a hooded man sitting in a chair near the huge fireplace that was set into the far wall, opposite the entrance to this fine establishment. The man was tall, a little over six feet. His body was well-toned but not excessively muscled, a fact that few would be able to detect because of the torn green robes he wore. Those clothes consisted of a simple tunic and breeches, each with several tears, and a long coat that also showed signs of many years of heavy use. His brown leather boots were equally worn, from the years the man had spent traveling across the continent of Bordelon. A small length of brown hair fell out from one side the hood that rested over the man's head.

Behind him, leaning on the wall, was a well-worn oak staff, with the word Tscon, written near the end of one side. It was the name of the staff's owner, who was watching an unsettling scene unfold on the far side of the tavern.

The scene was caused by a young man, probably a prince of some high standing family judging by the finery he wore. He was making life difficult for a young barmaid. Three men sat at his table, laughing when the princeling did something that was supposed to be funny. His friends were seemingly part of the city watch, as they all wore the same leather coats and breeches, and carried swords. They would yell for more ale, and insist the young girl bring it. And when she did they would make lewd remarks to and about her. As the evening wore on, they got drunker, their remarks became more lewd, and they began pinching her. The young lord would even put his hand up her dress, and make remarks about how much she must want him because he was so highborn. Of course, the bar patrons found this no end of amusing, and by midnight, the poor girl was in tears, and when she had finally had enough, she ran crying from the bar into the night. This only served to urge the young lord on further, and the hooded figure in the corner heard the young man order one of his henchman to follow her. As the guardsman followed her out, the prince got up slowly and stumbled out of the bar, leaning on his two remaining friends to keep him upright. The men stumbled outside, and went off after their prey. Suddenly, the chair next to the fire was empty.

The drunken prince and his two bodyguards stumbled down the street, barely able to keep up with the other man he'd sent to follow the young woman they'd been harassing in the bar. They continued after her to a lower section of the huge city, where most of the poorer people lived. The buildings here were much older than the section of the city they just left. Many of them didn't even have doors, and the windows on these houses were wide open. The inhabitants of this area disappeared into these ramshackle homes when they saw who was going by, not wanting to have anything to do with a nobleman.

At length, they rounded a corner and saw their friend standing in front of one of these old shacks. As the men stumbled forward, they saw that this house had a door, and they began to bang on it mercilessly, demanding the door be opened. When the door didn't budge, and no answer to their shouts came forth, the princeling ordered his men to knock down the entrance. It only took one swift kick from the men's booted feet to cave in the rickety wood that stood in their way, and the door shattered into pieces from the force of the blow.

The men lurched forward inside the house, and quickly spotted the girl, curled up in the corner, crying pitifully. Two of the prince's men walked over and grabbed her, hauling her roughly to her feet. The prince walked over to her after she was standing, still so drunk he was barely able to take just the few steps he needed to reach her. He leaned in close, his wine-filled breath repulsing the defenseless young woman.

Come one, girly, you must know who I am. Come give me what I want, and I'll give you anything you want.

The girl, sensing what was to come and knowing she had no way to prevent it, suddenly found a small bit of courage, enough to respond to her tormentors.

The only thing I want is for you pigs to go away.

Pigs?, the prince replied, his words still heavily slurred. Why you little slut I'm Prince Bran Havelon, of house Havelon. My family is the second most important house in this city. Just for that, I'm gonna let my men have their way with you, after I'm done.

The men were so engrossed in their lecherous activity they failed to notice the shadow that had formed over the broken entrance to the old house. All three of the young lord's guards were intently watching their liege, who was trying to get the young woman to lie down. She fought to stay upright, but the drunken lord suddenly pushed her and she fell, hitting her head. She cried out in pain, which made her attackers even more excited. The princeling got down and began to try and get her bodice off. The young girl yelled weakly for help, but it seemed her hope for release was fading away with her voice. She turned her head toward the door as Bran, which the young lord had called himself, put his hand up her dress, and a short gasp escaped her lips. Drunk as he was, Bran thought the sudden rush of air escaping her lips was because of him, it wasn't. She had just seen what was causing the shadow on her door. The young lord's henchman turned their heads to see what she was looking at. It was the hooded man from the bar, walking straight toward them.

Immediately on seeing this man walking toward them carrying a staff, the men all reached for their swords. The biggest one began to say something, but was cut off by the hooded man's staff smashing into his face. The other two fared no better, their hands barely reaching the hilts of their weapons when the staff came down on top of their heads. The sounds of the quick battle got the attention of the drunken princeling, and he struggled to his feet. Barely able to keep his balance, he pulled out a stiletto from a finely crafted scabbard at his waist. He lunged at the intruder, who easily deflected the blow, knocking the dagger from the young man's hand. Bran, drunk and off-balance, stumbled forward and fell face first onto the floor. By now, the young lord's guards were getting up. On seeing their employer fall flat his face, they suddenly ran together and pinned the stranger against the far wall. With two of them holding him, the biggest one, who was quickly developing a huge bruise where the man's staff had struck him, tried punching this intruder in the face. Each time the guard’s fist was about to find its mark, the stranger managed to move his head just enough so the blow hit square against the wall. After the third miss, the guard stepped back, cursing and rubbing his hand. The hooded man then took the advantage, knocking one of his captors off balance, and used the momentum of that movement to throw the other one to the ground. Broken-hand looked up just in time to see a fist heading straight for his face, and when it connected the man fell right where he stood. The other two, wobbly now from too much ale and too much pounding, just stood for a moment, rubbing their heads.

They then heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. The hooded figure looked over to see it was the princeling. He was standing now, and the young barmaid was standing next to him. The young man's stiletto was back in his hand, and the point was pricking the young girl’s neck. Bran stood silent for just a few seconds, staring at this impudent fool, who would dare to interfere with his fun, as if daring him to try something. When he saw the man was not going to move, he finally spoke.

You must not have heard me before, so I'll repeat it. I am Bran Havelon, first son to the second great house of this city and empire. Do you know what that means, Do you? The young man’s anger showed in his voice with those last two words.

If you don't I'll tell you, he continued, in a more controlled tone. It means I can do whatever the hell I want, and no one can say or do anything about it. I can deflower this lovely creature all night, and then pass her off to the entire city watch, and there's nothing you can do about it.

But I did do something about it the man quickly replied.

Bran became angry again at this interruption of his tirade.

Shut up, dog.

The young lord stopped abruptly, regained his composure, and then continued.

Well yes you did at that, didn't you? Now you're going to see what comes from your interference. Because I'm a lord in this city, and because you’re a nobody, I can kill this little girl, and accuse you of the crime. I even have three city guards to support my accusation. So, with that in mind, why don't you get out of here, so my friends and I can complete our, business. Bran smiled as he uttered his last word.

For a moment, no one moved or breathed. Then the young lord blinked. And in that blink of an eye, the hooded man threw a small two inch dagger he had slid into his hand while Bran was explaining the situation to him. The dagger sunk to the hilt into the young man's wrist, and he dropped his own dagger, screaming in pain. As he bent over holding his wrist, the young barmaid ran out of the