Blood Veins

By Brian Young

A black wave of terror has passed over the thriving kingdom of Larista. Mysterious invaders have swept over the land, laying waste to everything in their path and leaving ghost towns in their wake. No one knows where they came from and no one knows their purpose.

Tasting nothing but defeat after defeat after, the light of hope is fading in the kingdom; but the guerilla forces resisting the invasion have received new information. The news has provided a small glimmer that could possibly spark into something more. Captain Maximus Rex leads a daring rescue mission deep in the Laristan forests to save the lone surviving member of the royal family.

Once freed, Prince Alexander Novelle, along with his friends and comrades, face a perilous journey deep behind enemy lines. Their destination is Castle Varanasi. The once proud Laristan capital, gateway to heaven and salvation, lines in ruins under Dolus occupation.

Mysterious assassins, underworld savages and renegade Dolus survivors stand between them and the answers they seek. What they find there will shatter their perceptions and lead to unknown perils none of them are ready to face.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
• Release date: Jun 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781936403486

Brian Young

Author and filmmaker Brian Young is an enrolled member of the Navajo Nation. He grew up on the Navajo reservation in Arizona. Brian earned his BA in film studies at Yale University and his MFA in creative writing at Columbia University. Brian currently lives in Brooklyn, New York.

Book preview

Blood Veins

Book One of the Maker's Mountain Trilogy

Brian Young

Published by Rogue Phoenix Press at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012

ISBN: 978-1-936403-48-6

Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

The darkness was nearly overwhelming; nonetheless he tried to focus on the blackness instead of the pain in his side. It was beginning to recede along with the feelings in his arms and legs. A sudden chill took him and he could feel the life draining from him. Despair washed over him, he couldn't believe they would leave him chained in this foul, dank dungeon while his life force bled out of him. He tugged on the chains again; his wrists were raw and bloody from the chaffing but his strength was failing, and some small part of his struggling consciousness knew he couldn't have broken them under the best conditions.

His thoughts drifted to his family: his brother and father so far away, his sister and mother long dead. A glimmer of happiness sparked inside him. He knew he would be seeing them again soon. The worst part wasn't even his looming death, he had resigned himself to that some time ago, but the reality he wouldn't be able to tell his father or brother what he had discovered. He knew the information he held could save lives on both sides, but it would never get to the proper people. Even worse he knew his brother would follow. Once the boy got an idea in his head it was impossible to change his mind.

The prince relaxed and leaned against the cold stone pillar behind him. He closed his eyes and felt the darkness begin creeping ever closer. This wasn't the way he had imagined going out, chained to the ground like a common prisoner, and at the moment his dreams of being a heroic warrior seemed childish and rather pointless. I would sacrifice all the trappings of the royal court for even the slightest extension of this life. A quiet life as a peasant farmer doesn't seem so bad at the moment.

Even though the pain had all but disappeared, he felt the sudden pressure against the wound and a warm hand on his forehead. The darkness relented a little as his eyes fluttered open and stared into the brown pair not inches from his face.

I'm sorry, she whispered, I only just found out or I would have been here sooner. I could have saved you.

He tried to smile but wasn't sure if he had succeeded. It certainly didn't feel right. He started to shake, as the pain was completely gone and cold started to flood into his body. It's not your fault.

He could see hurt in her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face. The feelings he felt for her had barely begun to grow. He never could have imagined finding any kind of friend in such a dark place, but the tear let him know the feelings were reciprocated. He reached his shaking hand to her face and wiped away the tear, replacing it with a smear of dirt from his filthy finger. Instead of demeaning the tear by telling her how wasteful it was, he accepted the gift.

I take your water for myself in the manner for which it was intended.

She sniffed, controlling herself, and no more tears fell. I wish I could do something for you. I'm sorry.

You can, his voice now barely a whisper.

Anything.

Come closer. Hold me.

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, her face next to his. He knew she was warm and knew she smelled of flowers and spices but both senses were beyond him. He will come after me. Look after him like you looked after me, Belinda.

I will do better, she said.

With one final sigh, he was gone.

Chapter One

The rain was falling at a steady rate now, no longer making the pat, pat, pat sound as it fell on the leaves around him. It was a white noise drowning out all the other sounds of the forest, just as it was drowning his men spread out along the forest cliff surrounding the riverbed.

Captain Maximus Rex had been lying undercover in the brush for at least twenty-four hours and he could no longer feel his waterlogged feet and hands. He tried wiggling his toes inside his boots and rubbing his hands together to warm them up but it was ineffectual. He would need them fully functional soon. It was raining so hard he couldn't hear the river anymore. It was about fifty yards away, but he couldn't hear rushing rapids and he could barely see the whitewater along the bend. Thoughts of scrubbing the mission filtered through his mind; he knew the men couldn't stay out in this mess for too much longer or they might all catch pneumonia. Their target was long overdue.

Maximus adjusted his cap, trying to stem the flow of rain running into his eyes and glanced towards the river. The mission wouldn't be canceled because they might never get another shot at this again. The river had a name long forgotten in the misery and pain the world now lived in. Now it was only known as Blood River. Today the name would prove prophetic.

It already had, he thought as he looked over at the enemy scout lying next to him. The scout's blood had poured from the wound in his neck before the captain had been able to bind it and stop the bleeding. At the time he didn't know if there had been any other enemy nearby and he didn't want the bright red flow to mark his position. Nevertheless, the rain and the blood now swirled together in the puddle lying in front of him and ran in to one of the many streams formed by the downpour, ending where they joined with the river.

The scout's presence meant their target had to be close. The rain provided cover for his men and made them near impossible to see or hear. Unfortunately, it worked both ways and made detecting the enemy's approach all the more difficult. This one had nearly stumbled over the captain before either had noticed the other. The scout's jaw had come partially unhinged as Maximus had cursed and swiftly risen to sever his jugular.

The captain's heart skipped a beat as the bushes in front of him started to sway, and he silently cursed for letting his thoughts wander. He instinctively raised his rife at the bushes but thought better of it and pulled his knife from its sheath. He couldn't afford to waste his limited ammunition on close quarters fighting.

A whistle in a fair approximation of a birdcall sounded from the rustling shrub.

Maximus echoed the signal and returned his knife to its sheath as the lieutenant came out of the brush. Report, Lieutenant, he said once the lieutenant was close enough to speak to without shouting over the rain.

Lieutenant Percival Nix crawled into the open, glancing at Maximus' rifle then the red stream cascading down the cliff. His eyes followed that to its origin at the side of the dead scout. Percival raised his eyebrows and came face to face with Maximus.

A little jumpy, are we?

Maximus only grunted in response, so Percival continued. When are you gonna get me one of those fancy rifles? It would be a lot more useful to me than it is to you hanging out in the back of the battle looking pretty.

Maximus scoffed and glanced at the lieutenant. He had his helmet off and Maximus briefly contemplated reprimanding him but thought better of it. His own helmet sitting next to him only influenced the decision a little. Percival's hair was soaked through and the rain had turned it from a dark blond to a solid brown. His blue eyes looked tired, and they should. The men had been sitting out in the dreadful weather for what felt like ages.

Maximus and Percival couldn't have looked any different. Maximus had brown eyes and raven black hair. His face was weathered and rugged with a distinguished long nose. A small white scar on his left cheek marked where the tip of a sword had nearly taken his eye. Percival, on the other hand, showed no signs of the burdens the two men had shared. He had a smooth complexion unmarred by the usual signs of a soldier's life. Wide eyes and a small nose framed his face. Some people said he was so handsome he was almost pretty; a sentiment most people didn't say to his face or after they had seen him fight.

They both were wearing green and brown camouflage, full-body armor. It was valuable and rare and could easily deflect a blade; could even deflect a firearm and was extremely lightweight. Most soldiers were wearing plate armor made from steel. This stuff was made of a composite containing ceramic and metal. The results were much stronger and lighter plates. They also had full helmets that completely enclosed the head and face. The visors were brand new with motion detectors, full zoom, night vision and a host of other functions.

Normally Maximus liked to play things by the book, but Percival was a special case and he couldn't help but rise to the bait.

Maybe, he responded, but we both know you couldn't hit anything with it. All you're good for is using a beat stick, Lieutenant; besides, I'm a lot more important than you. People care if I get killed; you're replaceable, expendable. It took everything he had to keep a smile off his face.

A look of mock horror passed over the lieutenant's face. Not funny, Maxi, not funny. They sure wouldn't miss your winning personality though. Are you ready to get out of this rain yet? Percival didn't even bother to hide his smile.

All humor drained from Maximus as he turned and glared at Percival. Don't call me that Percy, besides I like the rain. Do you talk to Lord Bran that way, Lieutenant?

Maximus shifted a little as he spoke, trying to relieve the pressure from the arm he had been laying on. The movement only seemed to make it tingle more.

Percival had been grinning before, but now that smile split his face, turning it from rugged soldier back to the baby-faced, optimistic look he managed to maintain despite years of fighting.

You know I don't, but I might consider starting if it will keep him from sending us out in this nightmare in the middle of winter. It's cold enough to be snowing, Maxi. My sword is stuck in its sheath. I couldn't get it out if I wanted to. Percival mock-tugged at the sword on his belt. See, completely stuck. We better trade spots.

Maximus glanced at Percival's sword then at the giant ax strapped to his back. I don't think I've ever seen him draw his sword anyway. It was Maximus' turn to smile this time, although it was more of a predatory grin than anything he would share with a friend. It's alright, Lieutenant, we all know you'll be hiding once the fighting starts anyway.

Percival shrugged at Maximus then turned his head to stare at the river. Maximus waited for him to make some kind of comeback, and at first thought Percival had conceded the argument. Percival started to whistle and Maximus had to strain his ears to pick up the tune. He instantly recognized it once he heard a couple notes. It was a song about the events that had given Blood River its current name. This one happened to be about a cowardly captain who had abandoned his men on the eve of battle and the lieutenant who had taken over and rallied the men to victory.

Maximus snorted and turned away to hide the smile on his face. He had been upset about the current mission, thinking about scrubbing it before Percival came out here. Somehow, like always, Percival had been able to read his mood and turn it around. They had been friends for a long time and while Percival had never shown any inclination to lead, Maximus suspected he would make a damn good captain. Continuing to look out towards the rushing river, Maximus decided to get to the point. Do you have a reason for wasting my time, Lieutenant?

Percival sighed and the smile died from his face. Targets sighted; they turned the bend about five minutes ago. Percival pointed south down the length of the river. They should be here in about fifteen. No signs they spotted us.

Finally. Maximus nodded as he listened to Percy, his mind focusing on the reason they were out here in the first place. Packages? he asked as he glanced back at Percival.

Percival squinted into the distance, a habit he had when he had a mixed opinion about something. In tow, Sir, but no conformation either way on the prime target.

Maximus noticed the slight frown on Percival's face and the reservation in his eyes. He will be there, Percival. Don't worry about it. Formations?

Percival drew his lips back and sucked on his teeth before answering. Staggered. Troops, packages, troops, packages… more troops. It's not gonna be easy.

Maximus knew Percival was probing him, trying to test his resolve. They had suffered heavy casualties their last time out and for what? The few people they had saved had fled to their homes. Most likely to be picked up again and sent back to the mines.

It never is Percy, Maximus looked up into the rain. We're here to rescue these people, but the conquerors have changed tactics on us. Your men are good shots, but nobody is that good. We'll have to charge in to them. Tell Richardson, Davil, Willks and Klivos to hang back and use their bows. Richardson and Davil will take the front of the column. Willks and Klivos will take the back. Both pair will stay on the hill as snipers and backup. Only clear shots. Everyone else, swords or their beat sticks of choice. I have Alexander's guards. He glanced at Percival to gauge his reaction and got nothing.

I hate beat sticks, grumbled Percival, completely ignoring the reference to Alexander.

Maximus realized Percival wasn't going to think about their primary package until Alexander was confirmed, but Percival had good reason to be skeptical. They had hit several prisoner convoys based on reliable information and had failed every time. They could only hope this one would be different. The general population and most of the army had already written Alexander off as dead. No one had seen Alexander killed at the battle of Valhalisa, and there was still the occasional report of someone sighting a man matching his profile.

Maximus gave Percy a nod and a grim smile. It's what you're good at, Percy. We don't have a choice. We can't risk hitting any of the prisoners. As he spoke he watched a look of trepidation grow on Percival's face. What's wrong?

What if he's not down there? Percival sighed. I can't handle this. We keep hitting these convoys, and he's not there. We lose good men every time, and the people we free don't even join us. They run off to hide and die. Eventually the conquerors are going to start guarding these convoys better and changing the routes. We are only going to get so many more chances at this.

Losing your faith?

A rare spark of anger flashed across Percival's face. Never.

Percival wasn't the only one capable of manipulation. We aren't here just for him. We would go through with this even if we knew he wasn't down here. It's our duty to help these people. Some of them have joined us. Emon was worth it. Without his medical skills we would have lost a lot more people to injury and sickness. Maximus thought of the unlikely doctor. One of the biggest, meanest looking guys he had ever met; a giant grizzly next to Alexander's lion frame. The man wouldn't hurt a soul. Emon spent his life trying to help people after his sister died of the sickness when they were kids. Maximus had even heard rumors Emon had spent time with the Sisters of Gnaritas.

Percival shook his head. It's our duty to kill that murdering, traitorous scum, Novelle, and free everyone. Not just these people here today. We can't do that on our own though. We need him or no one will follow us.

Maximus cocked his head and looked quizzically at Percy. You know both their names are Novelle, right? Not to mention there's no proof Prodis is responsible for this. I doubt Alexander would appreciate you calling his brother a murdering, traitorous scum.

It was clear Percival was convinced Prodis was responsible and all he gave in response was a short grunt.

Anyway, Maximus continued, If Alexander is down there and we don't go in, we will have missed our best and possibly our only chance at freeing him. We go.

Percival's face went blank as he barked out, Yes Sir.

The captain sighed, his breath showing in the crisp cold air. The rain had started to let up, and it seemed the temperature had dropped another ten degrees as the chill renewed its assault against his rain soaked cold weather gear. I hate it when you call me Sir. It means you disagree with me, or you're mad at me

Percy gave his Captain a half grin. First, if I can't call you Maxi and I can't call you Sir, what am I suppose to call you? Second, I do agree with you. I just know when you need someone else to voice your inner thoughts and help you sort things out. Lastly, I'll make sure everyone is ready. Percival finished with his customary grin.

I hate you sometimes, Lieutenant.

Percival shrugged and turned to pass the plans along to the rest of the squad.

Lieutenant.

Percival turned to face Maximus. Yeah Max?

Maximus had been staring out at the river but turned back to look at Percival. Cut true and straight, and for God's sake man, block well.

Percival smiled at Maximus' rare prayer and finished it for him. You too, Max, and Creator save us all.

As Percival disappeared into the forest, the rain stopped and the sounds of the forest returned, dominated by the roar of the river. Maximus' could hear birds chirping and trees rustling in the wind; he could also make out twigs snapping and men talking. He knew the noise wasn't coming from his men; they were too disciplined to make themselves obvious to anyone who might be watching and listening; even if the roles had been reversed and they were leading the convoy, they would not have made a sound.

He knew their targets must have been getting close. It was almost time. The first white flakes began to fall and Maximus watched them float to the ground. He expected them to melt on the rain soaked soil, but as he adjusted position, he heard the slight sound of crunching and realized the rain had already begun to form ice crystals in the mud. He turned his attention back toward the white flakes swaying back and forth as they floated to the earth. The first ones did not melt as they contacted the ground, and as the snow began to pick up, it started to stick almost instantly.

I hate the snow, Maximus sighed to himself.

As he glanced back at the river and looked down the south road, he saw the first enemy troopers walk out of the white haze. They appeared in ones, twos and threes. The snow swirled around them and steam poured from their bodies. They clearly had no problem keeping warm unlike Maximus who was lying on the frozen ground covered in ice and snow. They walked slowly, scanning the cliff face as they moved from tree to tree along the river's banks. Maximus scanned the same area trying to locate his men. He knew if he couldn't find them neither could the enemy who didn't even know they were there, but he was unable to suppress the anxious feeling welling up in him. Maximus had set up on the opposite bank hoping to draw the conquerors' attention with his rifle and give his men a little more of an edge.

He sighted the lead trooper through the scope on his rifle, tracking him for a little ways then danced around looking for prisoners. His heart skipped a beat for the third time in the last half hour and began to pick up its pace. The first prisoner to walk through the snowy haze was the man they were looking for, although anyone else might not have recognized him. He was rail thin, his face gaunt with purple bruises under his eyes, but Maximus could tell the strength wasn't too far buried. The brown hair on his once clean-shaven head and face was grown out and unkempt. Despite the bone chilling cold, the captain could feel warmth returning to his fingers and face as anger surged through him helping to get his blood flowing. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and Max gritted his teeth as he moved his aim over one of the guards pacing the prisoner he needed to rescue. Prince Alexander Lucious Novelle was standing but two hundred yards away and Maximus couldn't afford to miss.

~ * ~

The column of troops and prisoners had been marching up Blood River for a day and a half. They were headed to the former fortress capital of Larista built into the Creator's Mountains. For the prisoners it was a sad reminder of how far they had fallen in such a short time. Their capital and the holy city had fallen so quickly that citizens outside its walls hadn't known of an attack until enemy troops were invading their homes. They were soldiers, nobles and peasants who had once looked to the holy capital for strength, and solidarity. Now the thought of heading toward the fortress brought the failures of their country and religion to the forefronts of their minds. The place they had once called home had failed them in their most desperate time of need.

The prisoners were from all corners of the kingdom; some had been fleeing the approaching horde of conquerors; some had been soldiers trying to hold them off so the people could escape towards the coast and the neighboring kingdoms, Valhalisa to the north and Trevinda in the south. They had all been brought from different battle sites and converged on the river. The march had been long and hard because winter was coming early. The temperature had been steadily dropping as they headed farther into the mountains.

Briah watched the young man in front of her as she rubbed the mixture in her hands together; she wanted to be ready for the next time he fell. She couldn't help but stare at the contrast between his pale white skin and the bright red rivulets of blood running down his back. The first time she had noticed him had been at the last transit post when the groups of prisoners had been combined together for the final leg of their march to Castle Varanasi, or castle Vodopaas as the conquerors now called it. The blood leaked from various crisscrossing wounds covering his back; some of those had split open after he had stumbled and the guards had helped him get moving again.

No one had said the castle was their destination, but it was obvious to anyone who knew the area. They had been marching against the current of the blood river now for several days. The river sprung from the mountains in which the castle lay. That, combined with the ever-increasing elevation and decreasing temperatures, signaled the direction they were headed. Not north but east into the mountains.

We will not survive this march. It will soon be freezing and we are not equipped for it, whined the prisoner walking besides Briah. It is a sign from God. First, he releases these conquerors from the foot of the mountain. Then, he brings the snow and ice while we are homeless without shelter and fire.

Briah looked at the man for the first time and immediately recognized him as a priest. His name was Brother Mable. Briah narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

You should not speak of such things. This is not of God's doing, and you will scare the other people here.

His tone transformed instantly from one of shrill despondency to authoritative strength.

Don't talk to me that way, poor girl. You are misguided. It is of God's doing. He is upset at us for embracing technologies. It is forbidden! I recognize you. You are one of the sisters that dwell in the mountain. You think you have the right to live closer to God, and you think you have the right to dig under his mountain. It is placed there for a reason. We dug too deep. It is you and your kinds' fault for influencing the King and angering the Creator! The city has fallen to the soulless heathen invaders and our gateway to the afterlife has been taken!

The priest was raising his voice and other prisoners were beginning to take interest in their conversation.

Briah glanced around at the other prisoners and realized she might need protection from the guards based on some of the looks she was receiving.

Be quiet you fool, she snapped at the priest. You will draw the attention of the guards and they do not care what your status is. Neither do I.

The priest drifted away from her back toward a group of his fellows and they began to converse in hushed tones. Briah narrowed her eyes at the ground and began to practice a breathing exercise to control her anger. How dare he place blame on me and the sisters. Didn't he know the history of Larista? Didn't he know the history of the tunnels under the mountain? Of course not. If he did, he surely wouldn't preach with such conviction and devotion. Briah was thinking about the meeting between her Mother, King Marik and his son Prodis when she looked toward the prisoner. She startled herself as she realized he looked much like the King.

She had noticed the young prisoner at first because of the way he looked, he had clearly been abused. He was undernourished and underdressed for the winter snows that were on their way. The Dolus usually treated their prisoners well; she assumed they needed them strong so they could work the mines in the mountains that bordered the edge of the world. The mines were the wealth of Larista; they made the kingdom rich and were the only reason besides the timber and game anyone would want to live in the desolate shadow of the mountains.

The way they treated him made it clear to Briah they had no use for this particular prisoner. But then why were they bothering to pay him any attention at all? As Briah had watched him, she noticed how he carried himself; strong and upright even though his outward appearance would suggest his body should be failing him. She also noticed the guards did pay attention to him. They enjoyed tormenting him, often beating him and lashing him with their whips. The conquerors were experts with those exotic weapons and they had baffled many of the Laristan soldiers. Most of the conquerors used the whips as weapons, attaching blades or small beads of iron balls to the end of them.

Briah's thoughts were interrupted as the subject of them stumbled and fell to his knees again. Several other prisoners began to move towards him, imploring him to get up but immediately retreated as the shouting guards came within range. Briah continued on though. As she reached him, she knelt by his side and placed the salve she had been working on over his wounds and they immediately stopped bleeding. He flinched at first but relaxed as the pain faded, and he glanced at her questioningly.

Briah quickly pulled another mixture, this one dried, out of her belt pouch, slipped it into his hand and whispered. Here, eat this. Quickly, it will give you strength. As Briah looked into his eyes she felt a shiver run down her spine; they were bright rich hazel flecked with green and perhaps a touch of gold. There was energy there but at same time, they were haunted and weary. She could see the strength in his gaze and was momentarily puzzled by his actions. He began to say something to her but stopped and glanced past her. Briah felt a rough hand grab her by the shoulder and throw her to the side.

What do you think you're doing, girl? the guard sneered at her.

Briah twisted her body and tucked her arms into her sides so she would land on her back instead of her shoulder or wrist. She still landed in the muddy ground and slid to a stop against one of the many pine trees lining the riverbank.

"No talking and you better stay away from this one or you'll be sharing