Oakheart Chronichles: Bloodborn

By Robert W Korhonen

Within the world of "Oakheart Chronicles: Bloodborn," Elizabeth Laticar a tool of assassination by birth and follower to the goddess of death. Elizabeth embarks upon a journey that shall change the very future of her nation and her people, as she endeavors to undertake her most formidable mission to date: the termination of Farrugut's crown prin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alchemy Publishing
• Release date: Aug 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088246924

Book preview

Chapter One : The Hunt

The sun's bright rays bathed the freshly fallen snow in a chilling glow, signaling winter's approaching end. The barren trees swayed gently in the light breeze, whispering tales of time passing by. With a soft voice barely audible over the wind's murmur, the young woman offered a prayer to her goddess. Life and death belong to the Lady in the Dark Veil, she whispered, even the seasons, for winter is as cold as death, and spring brings forth new life. With your dark grace, grant me the freedom and strength to walk the cusp between both, unwavering with my sisters and brothers. To those who are about to lose their lives, may the Lady in the Dark comfort their restless spirits.

Her eyes shimmered with reverence as she gazed upon the sturdy oak trees surrounding her. These trees held special significance for her, as their heartwood had fashioned the core of her trusty longbow and many other weapons. Even her moniker, known only to those in the shadows, was derived from the sacred tree. These trees were not only symbolic but also offered cover for her prey.

As she made her way through the snow, thoughts of the hunt ahead filled her mind. She knew the dangers that lay ahead but was confident in her abilities. Her training had been thorough, and she excelled in blending into her surroundings. While the trees provided her cover, they could also serve as a trap. Her prey would be cautious, and patience would be her key to success.

The silence was occasionally disrupted by the faint crunch of snow underfoot and the gentle creak of her leather pants. Only a keen observer would notice these sounds amidst the forest's ambient noises. Buck calls resonated through the woods as she moved, reminding her of the danger that lurked in the shadows. She traversed the terrain with care, treading lightly over knobby roots and familiar landmarks. These woods had been her playground and sanctuary since childhood, and she knew them intimately.

Her white bleached leather armor melded seamlessly with the snowy landscape, adorned with twigs and foliage to enhance her camouflage. In the midst of the snow, she resembled a hooded wisp moving with grace. Her dark hair, kept under the deep hood, was not only concealed but also protected from interfering with her task. Her target was close; an instinctual certainty guided her.

With utmost precision, she retrieved her bow and nocked one of her wicked-looking forked arrows from the hip quiver. The simple yet deadly weapon served her purpose perfectly. Slowly, calmly, she reminded herself as she drew the bowstring with her left hand, feeling the bow's resistance build as she aimed at her unsuspecting quarry. The anticipation coursed through her as she held the bow steady at full draw, her capable muscles unwavering. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, guiding her understanding of how the wind might affect her shot. Her breath formed small clouds in the frigid air, giving her insight into its direction. Everything had to be perfect; a single mistake could lead her prey to flee, escaping her grasp.

With practiced composure, she released her breath, emptying her lungs, and with a fluid motion, she loosened her fingers, allowing the bowstring to roll off them. The satisfying thud confirmed her accurate shot. With a swift motion, she swung her bow back around, securing it firmly on her back. A brief scan of her surroundings assured her that no one was stalking her. With confidence, she approached her wounded target, though every sense was on high alert, searching for any signs of danger. The wounded creature hadn't been able to go far; the arrow had deeply pierced its chest, and faint whimpers escaped its mouth as it struggled to breathe.

Yellow eyes tracked her every movement as the creature bared its teeth in anger, blood staining them. Undeterred, she gripped the arrow shaft tightly, and with determination, she pulled it free. A spray of crimson splattered her face, but it only brought a small grin to her features. Taking her knife from its sheath, she bent over and swiftly began to cut away at the neck. There was no ceremony, no prayer offered, just a task that needed to be done. Blood splattered her gloves, creating a vivid contrast against the soft, dull white leather.

The severed head was placed into a burlap sack tied to her side, and she secured it with a thin leather throng. Now, the unwieldy bag swung heavily with each careful step she took. Still, she pressed on, retracing her path through the snow. She remained vigilant, as bandits often targeted areas like these, especially as the sun neared its low point in the sky. The dark clouds on the western ridge of the Keplan mountain range foretold more snow to come. More snow be coming, she murmured under her breath, determined to clean her armor once she returned to the safety of the town walls. However, she knew she wouldn't make it in time before the drawbridge was raised for the night.

As the sun disappeared below the horizon, the moon and stars emerged, illuminating the dark sky. Freshly fallen snow adorned the landscape, and she felt the chill settling in. She needed to find shelter or build a fire before it became too frigid to endure. The snow made it difficult to find tinder for a fire, but she couldn't afford to risk her own life in the cold.

The strong oak trees once again offered a solution. She chipped at the bark of one of the larger oaks with her knife, feeling a pang of regret for using the tool this way. Blaming her own stubbornness for embarking on this hunt, she used flint to ignite the damp bark. It took a few tries to get a spark strong enough to start a fire, and she carefully tended to it, blowing on the small ember to coax it to grow. Soon, the fire was ablaze, providing some warmth in the freezing night.

Knowing she wouldn't get much sleep with the need to tend the flame, she settled near the fire, keeping the melting snow at bay. She added enough bark to sustain the fire and keep her warm. Despite the remote possibility of bandits, she felt relatively safe for the night. There will be none who would find profit in accosting me this night, she muttered, gazing at the dancing flames before her. In the quiet moments, her thoughts wandered to her latest kill and the exhilaration it had brought her.

The darkness of the night settled in slowly, casting its deep shadows over the snowy landscape. The distant calls of predatory animals sent shivers down her spine, keeping her alert and vigilant. A small crackling fire provided some illumination, revealing pairs of reddish eyes peering at her from the darkened tree line. She fought off sleep, knowing that these creatures could strike at any moment. As a lone wanderer in the wilderness, she understood the dangers all too well. It took just one bite or claw from these beasts to unleash untold horrors, as the madness wounds were all too common in these lands. The infected wounds would fester, driving the stricken into a fevered frenzy, causing them to attack even those they once loved before succumbing to the fever themselves. It was a fate she dreaded, but she had learned to be cautious in every step she took.

She closed her eyes briefly, not to rest, but to let them adjust to the dim light. Her ears strained to catch any unusual sound, but the distant howl of wolves calling to their pack jolted her awake. She had managed to snatch a few moments of rest, though it had cost her much of her fire's strength. The small flame now seemed like nothing more than a few dim embers struggling to stay alive. Knowing the importance of keeping the fire going, she meticulously tended to it, adding more wood and gently fanning the sparks. The faint smell of the smoldering oak bark provided some comfort, reminding her that the morning was fast approaching, but she knew she had to remain vigilant for a few more hours.

The rustling of plants and the occasional snap of a twig kept her on edge, her attention constantly darting from one sound to another. She knew that caution was her greatest ally, for the sickness that plagued these creatures could easily transfer to her if she was not careful. With her hand resting firmly on the pommel of her trusty long blade, she was ready to draw it at a moment's notice should the need arise. The tense standoff with the lurking predators seemed to stretch on endlessly, but eventually, the grayed wolf decided to seek easier prey, and the glaring reddish eyes faded into the darkness.

As the night wore on, the sounds of the wilderness gradually gave way to the chorus of birds announcing the coming dawn. Each call echoed through the snow-capped oak trees like a melodious amphitheater. Despite the calm of the new day, the young woman felt a lingering weariness in her bones. Her brown eyes gazed out emptily from under the white leather hood at the still smoldering pile of ashes before her. The dried blood on her hands caught her attention, and she vigorously rubbed the rust-colored crust off her gloves before glancing over at the bloody sack she had packed next to her bow. Her stomach growled angrily, reminding her of the need to eat. Should have brought food for my hunt, she grumbled to herself without thinking.

Taking a deep breath, she slid the quiver of arrows over her shoulder, followed by the long tan bow. She took care to ensure that the weapon's string did not get caught on the leather and snap. The bloody bag slung over her back reminded her of the successful but grisly hunt she had undertaken. Before leaving, she kicked snow over the ashes of her dwindling fire, meticulously hiding any traces of her presence. With determination, she set off towards the sunrise, her steps determined and steady as she moved through the rolling waves of the barren, snow-covered wheat fields.

As she approached the tall imposing stone towers of Vestura, a wave of relief washed over her. The city walls marked the boundary between the wilderness and the relative safety of civilization. Though tired, she quickened her pace, eager to reach the thick stone walls that shielded her from the dangers beyond. In the distance, she could see the small huts and cottages where the peasantry lived, their simple abodes often overlooked by the ruler of this small town.

Count Alistar Vi Laticar's brutal ways were notorious, but the true ruling presence of Vestura was his wife, Countess Morgiana Vi Laticar. She was feared by many, rumored to possess mystical powers that branded her as a witch in the eyes of the superstitious populace. Assassination attempts had failed to unseat her, a testament to her power and cunning.

As she made her way through the snow-kissed fields, she couldn't help but reminisce about her life within the walls of Vestura. Having spent her whole life there, she knew all the ins and outs of the walled city. The serfs working in their humble homes paid her little mind as she passed by, their daily toils occupying their thoughts. These people had enough to worry about without concerning themselves with the presence of a lone wanderer.

The smell of coal being put to fire filled her nose as she passed by the blacksmith's hut. Memories of the small workshop, where she had watched the construction of the large forge as a small girl, flooded her mind. The journey through the fields led her closer to the main gate of Vestura, where the guards were vigilant in their duties. She knew she had to be careful, as even the slightest oversight might give her away.

Cursing silently, she set the bloody bag down and lowered her hood. Her long, curly auburn hair spilled freely, no longer restrained by the confines of the hood. With deft hands, she packed the bag at her side, ensuring that it wouldn't draw undue attention or hinder her entry into the town. Slowly, she waded through the knee-high snow, her steps purposeful as she approached the main road into Vestura. The once-pristine snow was now trampled, muddied by horse dung and dirt. The bustling sounds and smells of the settlement filled her senses, and she couldn't help but scowl at the unpleasant sight.

She stepped towards the main gate, where the sturdy drawbridge creaked under her weight as she crossed over the oaken boards. Her eyes drifted towards the young halberdiers manning the gate, their faces revealing their inexperience. She paid them little heed as she passed under the thick iron portcullis, and the gatemen gave her a quick nod, causing her to halt before them.

Chapter Two: Crimson Inauguration

It was a shock to her as the halberds descended before her, obstructing her path. A second pair of guards advanced towards her. Oy Lady Elizabeth, what ye be doin outside the walls overnight? the first one queried, his eyes gazing over the white leather she wore.

Tryin to get out hunting yet again? Putting our arses on the line for your own amusement, the ugly one of the bunch said, looking with disdain at the bow slung over her back, as well as the bloody bag resting on her hip. Got yourself another trophy, milady? he quickly asked her as she stood before the four guards. The count would be irate to hear ye been out all night, milady. His face quivered with worry at being the target of the Count’s admonishment.

Aye, been out huntin' wolves, she said nonchalantly, opening the bag and raising the severed head. The agouti fur of the wolf was matted with dried blood, the sharp teeth still bared even in the stillness of death.

Oy, what a fearsome creature! How did ye fell the beast? the youngest of the four said as he ran his fingers over the tips of the longest of the beast’s teeth, testing their points.

With one of these, Elizabeth calmly replied, pulling one of the arrows out, spinning the nearly three-foot shaft around her fingers with finesse before sliding it back into the quiver on her lower back. I would be obliged if ye gentlemen kept my excursion past the walls to yourselves, she said politely, lowering the wolf’s head back into the bloody sack.

The group of guards nodded their heads nearly in unison as the two bearing their halberds stood at attention as she passed them. The clinking sound of their chainmail was noticeable as the four fell back into position, allowing her passage into the main center of the town. The smell had always bothered her, having spent her childhood walking around in the most unsavory parts of the town, but she knew better than most that the keep was far worse. Just a different kind of filth resides in that place, she mumbled as she sidestepped a haggard drunk. Raising her hood back up over her head, she moved through the nameless crowds that had gathered to barter and trade goods. Black half-melted snow was trampled underfoot as each person hustled around, looking for a way to make an extra copper. The peasantry are definitely strange, Elizabeth muttered as she began making her way towards the keep.

The stone structure stood as the final bastion of hope against invading forces. Though there had not been open warfare for nearly twenty years, the threat of it loomed ever-present. Behind the fortified stone walls of the keep, Count Laticar could hold out during a siege for nearly a year. But for someone who was trained as well as she was, such imposing structures only lulled targets into false senses of security and often opened the way to their own demise.

Elizabeth walked cautiously through the mud of the dirty town, passing the tavern where she could hear the distinct sounds of a bar fight. The crashing noise and sounds of men cheering seemed to fill the streets surrounding the establishment. Always a fight, these bloody barbarians, Elizabeth mumbled, taking care to stay away from the stained glass windows of the tavern. Her disdain for the small walled town seemed to grow every time she set foot inside the walls. Despite her hatred of the town, she had an obligation to return. The laws of her order kept her close despite her unwavering desire to leave.

The imposing structure of the keep grew in size as she neared the end of the road. Its thick oak drawbridge was down, covering the way to the chasm below. The fortification had been built on a small island just off the coastline, and the frigid waters below, with nearly a hundred-foot drop, provided a calming sound as they crashed on the rocks beneath her feet. Her ears listened to the rhythmic pattering of her boots on wood. Once on grass, however, she was the epitome of silence as she stepped through the stone arch into the keep’s courtyard.

Elizabeth Vi Laticar! How dare ye! greeted her the moment she strode under the arch, her father’s booming voice betraying her best efforts to remain concealed. How dare ye go beyond the walls overnight! Ye coulda been killed or worse! The voice of her warlord father trailed off as she ignored him, walking through the doorways to the main chamber of the keep. She knew her father, Alistar, would be making his way down to chastise her even further. Father, can ye not? Just be off to one of your whores or a bottle of wine, ye bastard! Contempt laced her words like venom on a blade.

Taking the first left in the corridor, Elizabeth kept to the shadows, her steps swift and silent. The stone walls around her seemed to whisper secrets of the keep, a fortress that had witnessed both triumph and tragedy. As she ascended the stone steps, each one worn smooth by centuries of use, she couldn't shake the memories of the countless times she had sought refuge in her quarters. Opening the thick wooden doors, she slipped inside and closed them behind her with a soft thud. Here, she found sanctuary from the harsh realities beyond, shielded from her father's wrath and his drunken rage. The grand room she resided in spoke of opulence and extravagance, but to Elizabeth, it was merely a gilded cage.

Exquisite cloth framed nearly every piece of furniture in the room,