The Blade of Anslor

By Jason Wallace

Sarris, an escaped slave, must make his way to safety and avoid the king's men. Falling in with the People of the Wood, he learns that only the legendary Blade of Anslor can save himself and his new friends from the wrath of the king and his evil plans. The sword lies far away and has not been seen for so long that it's existence can only be hoped for and the salvation that it will bring seems beyond reach.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Wallace
• Release date: Mar 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310260452

Jason Wallace

Make sure to check out my other poetry at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jasonwallacepoetry. There are books on Amazon that are not shown here because they are offered through Kindle Unlimited. There are also books shown here that are not available on Amazon because they are free at all times. http://www.amazon.com/Jason-Wallace/e/B00JG37PVO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1399103321&sr=8-1 Jason Wallace is an Indie author from the Midwest, aspiring to bring his works to the masses and through this, bring joy into their lives. He has been writing for more than 20 years, mostly poetry, but since 2011, he has been writing novels and short stories, in various genres. Come check out my new page and see what's going on. https://www.facebook.com/thepageofauthorjasonwallace

Book preview

The Blade of Anslor

By Jason Wallace

Smashwords Edition

******

Published by:

Jason Wallace and JaMa Literary Agency

on Smashwords

The Blade of Anslor

Copyright © 2013 by Jason Wallace

*Author's Note*: The story slips between first person and third person often. Some may not catch this, but many will. This is done intentionally, as Sarris, the protagonist, is under tremendous personal duress and injury when later recounting his tale, a tale which becomes, thusly, fragmented, and must be filled in with graphic description. Beginning in Chapter 4, the story sometimes flashes forward, after the point when Dragnar, Sarris, and their people have reached the lands of Balstaf the Black and from time to time, back to their journey to those lands. The story of the journey to Balstaf's lands is a recollection of events retold by the protagonist, Sarris, filled in with missing pieces. Sarris is, from time to time, telling the story, while, at the same time, events are occurring in the land of Balstaf. All events occurring on the way to this land are past tense, those occurring in Balstaf's lands and any events thereafter, present tense.

For my fans and for anyone who may have bought this book on a dare, on a whim, by accident, or who might have had it given to them. Without each and every one of you, I could not do what I do. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, and I hope that you enjoy this book. You mean more to me than you could ever imagine or than I could ever tell you. I hope that this dedication, only in this third anniversary edition, conveys some of what I feel. God bless you all.

-Jason Wallace

This book is also available as an auidio book. Search for the audio title by putting it into any search engine, with the word ‘audio’ added to it.

Chapter 1: Flight

Sarris? Sarris?

I could feel sleep lifting from my heavy eyes as words danced upon my ears. To my view, there was Elirian, the girl that had found me beyond the ridge and guided me through the woods to the camp of her people. Looking around, I could see that daylight was breaking.

Yes, I answered her, barely finding strength to speak, as my throat felt crushed from the weight of the jail guard’s hand.

Sarris, it is day now, and you must wake. We are moving camp. Hibergian men will soon be after us, if they are not as yet.

I jumped to my feet and rushed about, not knowing what I was to do, how I was to aid these people that had given me refuge. Turning back to Elirian, I posited, If the Hibergians find me with you and your people, your fate will be sealed as mine, under the sword.

My people know how to fight, Sarris. We have trained since ages past in the arts of war.

With a deep sigh, I pondered Elirian’s words but could not escape the fear that they rang untrue.

No, fair woman, no. I must leave. If I do not flee from this place, I will be responsible for the deaths of many. I must ensure they do not find your path and me upon it.

Sarris, we have many trained men among us, men of valor and strength. We have one of the finest smiths in all the known world. Our swords are the surest blades ever forged. Do not think us too weak to defend ourselves.

I knew at that moment that nothing my mouth could form would convince the woman of the futility of her people’s actions. If they were to fight, I must aid them, I thought.

Though time seemed to stand still, the hours passing as though they were days, the midday sun was about without my realization. It burned so hot that I felt as if I were being cooked alive, and it was at that moment that I understood I had not removed my wet clothing from the previous night’s escape. I had traveled through swamps with the girl, Elirian. I had been wearing a tattered shirt, one that I had not taken off for much time, as slaves are rarely allowed the privileges of bathing or changing of clothes. I began to remove the shirt, revealing fresh wounds from the overseer’s lash. The heat of the day seemed only to sting the wounds, causing searing pain and me to let out a yelp. This caught the attention of everyone in the party, and several turned to look at me with awe.

You were not lying, Sarris. You were a slave, indeed, Elirian shrieked.

Nearly all of my life, I replied. I have few memories from before that time.

As more words attempted to part my lips, a sudden voice rang out from the distance, followed by a hellish laugh that chilled the bones. We will find you, boy! You cannot run!

I hoped to determine from where the voice came. I knew that it would not be long until the king’s men found me among Elirian’s people and slaughtered them all.

Do you have any idea how far from us they are, I asked Elirian, knowing full well that my own skills were not suited to such a task.

Elirian was surprising, able to deduce, with immeasurable ease, the exact threat posed to us. I believe that they have just crossed the ridge and will be here before the day’s end. We must continue with all the speed of Ramoth.

What if they are on horse? This thought terrified me. We could not outrun a mounted party.

Elirian laughed. Did you pay no attention last night, slave? The ridge is impassible on horse.

Her words gave me great comfort, though I knew the fear would not abate. I did not fear death, not after a lifetime of slavery under the hand of a barbaric king. I, however, felt unquenchable worry that the men would find us and slay these kind people and send me back to servitude and the whip.

I tried to allow my mind the release of distraction by keeping Elirian in conversation. Who is this Ramoth of which you spoke?

With a perched lip, Elirian let loose a tide of religious doctrine. Ramoth is the god of truth and mercy, the true god. Others, they worship Dathan, or Sirt, or Myris, gods of evil, gods of darkness, gods of war. Our god, the one true god, teaches us to love one another, to fight only in defense of ourselves and the weak. Our god, Ramoth, has allowed us to live mostly in peace, to prosper, to gain in knowledge and love. And what god do you serve, slave?

I serve no god! I have never known a just god. The god of my people allowed us to be murdered or sold into bondage when we served him faithfully. The god of my masters is cruel, evil beyond measure. Those are the only gods I have known, and if death and slavery are the rewards of such gods, I would have no god!

I assume your masters worship Dathan, proposed the girl, looking at me pityingly.

Yes. Dathan. God of fools, god of trolls, god of shit and filth.

You have simply never found the one true god. Ramoth has never led his people into bondage, and other than a rare, small skirmish, he has not let his people face battle since times immemorial. We have taken no part in the wars of Stim, Gron, or any other of the whore kings of these lands. We maintain secrecy, choosing to live in seclusion where few ever find us.

As she said these words, I realized that we were moving no faster than before. With the king’s men coming upon us, there was little hope, unless we did as Elirian said and moved with the speed of Ramoth, something I still could not comprehend, but if it meant eluding our captors, so be it.

Where will I go, I wondered aloud, not exactly expecting to be answered.

To the lands of Balstaf the Black, came a reply, though I knew not from whence it came.

I looked all about and finally concluded that the words had come from a greying man ahead.

And just who might this Balstif be. I knew that I had never heard of such a man and that he being named the Black could not mean anything good. Then I thought that if these people trusted him, he must be an honorable man and have earned such a name in a way that did not speak of his heart or deeds.

The greying man said so loudly that it almost hurt my ears, His name is Balstaf! He is Lord of Arioc and all of the Salt Sea Lands. He is the only man of power that has ever displayed the slightest hint of kindness to our people. In a time very long ago, our people and his fought side by side in the war against the Giants of Ayrgayle. The man seemed to be angered by my having mispronounced Balstaf’s name. If I held hope of surviving and remaining free, all I could do is make sure that I made only friends and left no one to betray me to the king’s men.

Sir, I assure you… I did not mean to cause you anger or malcontent. I simply have never before heard of such a man, and I wanted to know who he was and if he be friend or foe and the purpose for such a journey to his lands.

Come up here, boy, came the reply of the old man.

I quickly left Elirian and found my way to the man, nudging aside a young woman that I assumed may have been the man’s daughter. The man looked at me in a way that showed disgust. I did not know if it was because of the wounds on my back, the dirt on my face, or that I had been a slave until the day before.

Boy, listen to me. If you want to make it through this life never again feeling the sting of a whip, you must do as I say, do as I do, and do not question me. I have trained many a man, and none of them has ever died or been taken under my watch. I have kept these people safe for more years than I can remember by teaching them well what to avoid, who to trust, and when to fight. We have avoided wars more than you have years by being watchful and smart. If you follow me and pay attention, you will see a land more beautiful than you can imagine and feel the welcome of a ruler that never raises a sword or whip against those he calls friend. Balstaf the Black would sooner see his entire kingdom destroyed than one man or woman taken from it by the cruel hand of someone like your king.

So, you know who my king is, or was, I asked inquisitively.

Of course, I do, boy. Everyone knows the barbarity of your King Ardan. He is not a man and no king of mine, though we have lived for years hidden on his lands.

And you are king of these people?

Don’t be foolish, boy. I am no king. We have no kings. Kings lead a people to ruin. I am Hafrinth.

That is your name, Hafrinth, I asked.

No, boy. My name is Dragnar the Brave…. But I am Hafrinth of this people. I am their judge, defender, and council. I serve this people with all of my being but am no king. To be a Hafrinth, one must gain the approval of all of the people. If one person does not want you as Hafrinth, you will never be Hafrinth. I was made so by my deeds as a young man. My mother was Isdari. My father was Seltud, I think. My mother was taken as a girl and enslaved to my father. When she was pregnant with me, she escaped, much as you did, and made it back to her people, the Isdari. Her grandfather had been Hafrinth long ago, and many thought that I was destined to live up to his legend. When I was barely grown, younger than you are now, I killed a bear with only a wooden spear and later, killed fourteen Avirisian men that were camped in the woods, about to attack us. From then on, I was a leader of some kind, leader of warriors, council to Hafrinths, and so on, until the people thought that I had proven myself to be the worthiest of the title itself and made me Hafrinth after Sandar the Old.

There were no words that I could say that would impart to this man the magnanimity of my awe for him.

We marched for many more hours, growing wearier as we traveled. I stumbled along with the rest, not knowing when there might be an end to the misery. Able to go no further, I turned to Dragnar and gave him a look that he immediately understood.

Halt! The man raised his sword high to signal the others to stop. We will rest here for only a bit. Take water and food if you need it. When that is finished, we go on! We have at least three days of hard march ahead of us until we reach Arioc.

It seemed such a happy occasion. I felt so little strength left in me after walking all day that I fell beside a tree. Elirian soon joined me, offering me some of her drink.

I thought you of all, being a slave, would be used to this.

With my mouth agape, I struggled to find words. Sighing, I answered what appeared to be an insult at my very manhood. I am no slave! Not anymore.

I did not mean…

I am a free man. But yes, I was a slave. And yes, I did do heavy work, but I have found myself weaker as of late, especially having been in the king’s jail, kept in darkness, barely able to move, awaiting my death.

My tale apparently brought the girl to struggle herself for words. I… I… I am so sorry. I…

Perhaps, I will tell you one day of my life, but for now, I do not feel compelled to do so. You assume that all slaves are kept doing hard labor at all times. That was my life, until the last time that I attempted to escape. They wanted to use me for an example and planned to have me flayed and then eaten by animals in front of the other slaves.

Elirian, choking out a response, tried to console me. "All will be well, Sarris. Believe in this one truth. When we