Hope Chest

By Anthony Aurisano

A good-hearted young prince learns that much of his life has been a lie. Battling a fire-breathing dragon to save his people from starvation sets into motion a chance meeting with a mysterious boy, who has a penchant for appearing out of no where and dispensing wisdom far beyond what would be expect from one so young, and a young female thief who stole the robes of an Emerald Sister in her journey North. Betrayed by his child-hood friend Marric, Ash struggles to survive against a battalion of Hylaen soldiers, and prevent a coup of his father, King Alric's kingdom of Larutte in the northern expanse of Daelia, a father who may in many ways be just as bad as the Mad King Caelen of Hylaea to the south.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543991079

Book preview

PUBLISHING

CHAPTER 1

Ash readied his sword. He had fought battles before; many battles, in fact. He had even faced and defeated a dragon. But, none had hurt him like this. He rubbed his eyes free of sweat, missing a bead that streamed down his brow and fell slowly from his eye like a tear. This all could have been avoided, he thought to himself. That boy. He knew. The hope chest was behind Marric, but so was an army. Ash knew staying present in battle meant the difference between life and death. He was so much nearer to death now than he’d ever been before. He was the prince of Larutte. He was born to lead his people. He was mighty. But, so was she, he thought. His sword began to lower. It seemed heavier now.

Open the chest, Ash, Marric demanded.

I can’t… Only Euan can open it.

His sword fell below his shoulder. As it did, a blast of fire barreled toward him. Ash rolled out of the way, his ears ringing. If only he knew then the truth about the dragon. He never would have killed her. You’ve been such a fool, he thought.

Marric saw an opportunity in what he called dragon attacks on the kingdom. He was always good at spinning a tale, even as a boy. He would enchant Ash for hours with his tales of the heroic knights of old, and then haunt him with stories of ghosts and magical beings. Ash never knew from where he got his ideas, but he adored Marric’s ability to strip away the everyday and make it fantastical. So, when Marric came to him with stories of a dragon devastating the people of their kingdom, Ash was eager to challenge the beast, as had the knights in the tales told to him as a boy by Marric. However, Ash was not led by this alone. Ash was the heir to the throne of Larutte and had been for many years now. He had studied war and learned to govern. He loved the former and hated the latter. He wanted to protect his people; he wanted to be loved by his father. That meant doing his duty. But duty is a heavy mantle for any young man to bear. His father wore the mantle well. It suited him. His broad shoulders and barrel chest were much like the ash tree for which he had named his son. King Alric had long brown hair dusted with white, piercing, yet gentle almond-shaped blue eyes, and a sharp nose. He was resembled an eagle soaring high in the sky and Ash often felt like his prey. Ash had the same piercing almond-shaped blue eyes as his father, but his mother’s nose. It was angular, but not as sharp as Alric’s and he also had his mother’s blonde hair, which he kept long, just like his father.

Ash remembered as boys, looking into Marric’s eyes while he would tell his tales. Marric also had blue eyes, but they were flecked with grey, which in the right light made them look icy and cold, but most of the time they reminded him of his father’s eyes. They had the same almond-shape, and they beamed right down his sharp nose; the piercing gaze of a raptor locked on something of interest. Ash always looked forward to the nights when he and Marric would sneak away to their favorite nooks throughout the castle as he would tell his tales. What Ash loved most about these nights was that they took his mind off of his daily drills on duty and frequent lectures from his father. Marric was his friend, but, they were more like brothers. At least until Marric turned sixteen. That was when he was conscripted into The Order of Clerics.

Ash’s father, Alric, always treated Marric rather harshly. He all but forbade them from playing together. Marric was the bastard son of an Emerald Sister who was stationed within the castle as a physician for a time. She had conceived Marric out of wedlock and was found trying to abort him by another of the Emerald Sisters. As such, she was expelled from the order for promiscuity and for using the knowledge of the sisterhood for nefarious ends. According to Alric, Marric was not the sort of friend kept by princes. But, he never actually decreed that Ash was not to spend time with the boy. Ash had a feeling that Marric’s conscription was somehow his father’s doing, but he had no proof. From that day forward, Ash saw Marric scarcely, if at all. The few times they did see each other, Marric told him no stories of knights nor ghosts, nor any sort of magical beings. He grew more and more serious and his eyes seemed to be in the right light all the more often.

When Marric came to him with the tale of a dragon attacking villagers and stealing livestock, Ash was heartbroken for their loss, enraged over the attack on his people, but he was also, at least for a moment, a little boy once more, enchanted by the fantastical tales told by his dearest friend. This time, however, it was not some knight from the past in Marric’s tale; it was Ash. He would be the valiant knight dodging fire and slaying dragons for his people. Marric claimed he knew just how to defeat the monstrous beast, and promised to tell him if Ash would, in turn, promise to bring him the ruby red heart of the scarlet dragon. And so, Ash agreed.

Damnyou, Marric! The words slipped through his gritted teeth. He could hear the jangle of armor moving through the woods to his left. He’s trying to flank me. Damn you, Marric! May you rot in underworld for what you’ve done, thought Ash as he steadied his feet and reached for a small glass orb on his belt. I need to gain some control over this situation.

He threw the orb at the tree-line near where he heard the men moving into position. It exploded into an ever-expanding cloud of dark smoke, its inky tendrils groping through the air, surrounding the base of the trees and reaching upward. The smoke appeared to Ash as eyes blinking on beat. He reflexively pulled his right shoulder back as the arrow flew past his chest. He felt the bite of the second arrow in his left leg. He reached for it; it was deep into his flesh. He tried to pull it out. Dammit, he said to himself as he heard the hiss and crackle of fire coming toward him again. Instinctively, he dove in the opposite direction, but he landed on the arrow in his leg and it snapped. He groped blindly for the tiny bit of shaft protruding from his leg, careful not to drop his eyes from his surroundings for even a moment. Waves of pain fluttered through his body. He saw spots of light. Every slipping grip or solid connection with the shaft sent agonizing pain through his body. He felt his eyes closing. Was this how she felt before I killed her? Ash thought. The world momentarily flickered between his eye-lashes and then he lay unconscious on the ground, blood pooling beneath his leg. His final thoughts were of a dying dragon.

CHAPTER 2

She stood in stark contrast to the lush varietals of greens within the valley. Her wet, crimson and ruby red scales glistened in the sunlight; her wings beat upon the air. She roared. Ash readied his sword.

Look for the misshapen scales. That’s what Marric had said, Ash remembered to himself. The heat from the flame sac causes the scales to heat and cool too rapidly; as such, they’re softer than the others.

His armor, a brilliant azure offset with gray, was heavy against his body; the weight a comfort to him in this moment. Without deviating, he rushed straight towards her, much like an arrow in flight. He hit his mark, driving his sword deep into the misshapen scales now visible on her chest. She roared and writhed in agony. She sucked in air to make fire, but Ash’s sword had punctured her fire sac. All she could do now was expel the air like an old woman blowing out a candle. She’s not dead yet. A wounded animal is a deadly one, he thought. Ash stood for a moment watching, waiting, studying her movements. He was hot. Sweat burned his eyes. He took off his helmet and let it fall to the ground by his feet.

She’s in so much pain. I need to end this quickly. My people will be safe once she is