A Storm of Blood & Steel: A Storm of Blood & Steel

By Riley VanderPol

In the land of Moros, dragons rule the skies, and only the most powerful men rule the kingdoms below. As darkness falls over the continent, even the lowest of the lowborn smell the threat of war in the air. In a world of chaos and greed, the threads of fate weave together the lives of four individuals. Asa, a powerful warrior in King Orson's army, is thrust into a web of secrets that will change her and her brother Einar's life forever. Vegar, prince of Vigmar, must find a way to restore the power of his family's dragons before his power-hungry father destroys the continent. His only hope is an ancient blood magic and a long-dead god. Valtyr, a bastard sold to a couple of farmers as an infant, must survive in a world where he is a no one as he searches for his purpose in the war to come. Egil, a spoiled rotten prince, cares only for his sister and ensuring his weak brother does not inherit the Dragonmouth throne. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. An age of war and death is upon them. Decades' forgotten secrets come to the surface as all four characters work against fate to secure their victory in a war that is sure to destroy them all. Who will emerge victorious in the end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Riley VanderPol
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988895510

Book preview

1

Asa

Asa tilled the soil of her family’s farm, planting rye seeds one by one, her fingers moving in a rhythm she’d become quite efficient at after twenty long summers of repeating the motion. The thought of it alone made her fingers ache, even in winter when snow covered the fields. As a young girl, she’d cried many nights of the farming season, scabs and calluses covering her fingertips, her back aching from pulling weeds and digging holes.

The sun wavered on the horizon, its light disappearing slowly beneath the mountains. Footsteps approached from behind, sucking mud with every step.

It is time to leave. Her brother spoke from behind her, his tone flat. She could hear his weapons belt jingling as he shifted his weight, becoming impatient.

There. She stood, pulling her tunic down from where it had ridden up in the back. Asa turned to face her brother, Einar. His long, golden hair was pulled back in a messy braid that hung down his back. He’d already dressed in his battle attire. Around his waist was the weapons belt wielding his flimsy sword and an ax, his shield on a strap over his shoulder.

You really could use a better sword, brother, she scoffed, taking the lead as they began the walk from the field, through the village, to the docks.

If we are successful, perhaps I shall buy one. If we get lucky, I will buy you one too. Hmm? He smirked.

If the gods will it, we will see victory. But brother, I cannot help but feel a storm brewing.

I do not see any storm, Asa. Einar peered through the thick forest to the beach nearby.

Not one of rain and wind. It is hard to describe.

Give it a try. I am curious. He walked with his hands on his belt, strolling along the path beside her.

I feel… dread. Like looking back over a battle won to see a thousand corpses lying about the battlefield. A storm of blood and steel, of fire and ice.

You are worrying me, Asa. Einar stopped his sister and held her by the shoulders. Have you seen something? After their mother died, Asa often had nightmares that would wake her screaming in the night. He no doubt worried they were back or—worse—that they weren’t just nightmares but visions, sent down from the old gods.

No—it is just a feeling. Probably nothing. Work on the farm has made me tired. Maybe it is just that.

I hope that is all it is. We have yet to lose a battle. We will not start today. The gods are with us. They always are. He stared her down, his blue eyes like oceans in his sockets. She nodded, tugging the old brynja he’d brought her over her head and struggling under the weight of it.

Between their village of Kjos and the shipping docks was a thick forest of deciduous trees, their trunks tall and thin and good for boatbuilding, which had allowed the people of Kjos to build a sturdy fleet. Animal footsteps cracked on branches in the shadows and the howl of a wolf pack echoed from the west. Asa touched a large scar on her forearm, remembering the day a pack had surrounded her in these woods while she was picking berries. Her brother and father had heard her screams from the docks, where they were loading boats for a raid. They came running, approaching an opening in the trees where they watched as a wolf tugged on her arm, blood seeping from the punctures around its fangs. Einar was a large boy, now an even larger man. He’d tackled the wolf that held Asa down while their father sank his ax into the few beasts who refused to retreat. Einar wrapped his arms tight around the wolf’s neck, squeezing with all his strength. After a few moments, the wolf’s twitching ceased and Einar, releasing his grip, ran to his sister to check her wounds. After that day, Asa had insisted they teach her how to fight for herself. Their father had agreed, hoping it would prevent such situations in the future. She had done more than protect herself since.

You two are off, then? Their father, Eyvind, smiled down at them as they climbed the small hill before the beach. His golden hair was streaked with gray, like strands of silver in the moonlight. His beard was the same, long and well-kept, knotted near the end.

Father. Einar embraced him. They were nearly the same height, but Eyvind had an inch or two on him.

You’re not coming? Asa huffed as she adjusted her brynja, realizing she should have waited to put it on.

I have other things to attend to here. I will be here when you return with a feast that’ll make your eyes come out of your head! Eyvind let out a deep chuckle, holding his belly where a belt hugged his waist.

Is everything okay? she asked, tossing her woolen drawstring bag and shield into the boat. Around them, warriors were piling in and taking their places on the oar benches.

Everything is fine, my little valkyrie. Do not worry for me. I will just be getting fatter, waiting for you to return. He put a hand to her face and caressed her cheek, planting a kiss on her forehead. A kiss on the forehead for Einar, too, who had to lower himself to accept it.

Worry not about your father, children. Haven’t you heard the stories about the Jarl of Kjos? Their uncle, Heahmund, moseyed over to them, a bag and shield over his muscular shoulders. He and Eyvind weren’t blood brothers, but they’d spent more than a dozen summers raiding together, and he was the only family the siblings had ever known, beyond their parents. Haven’t you heard he can swing a hammer with ease and swipe the heads off two men at once?

Very funny, Heahmund. I mean it, though: everything is fine. Next time I see the three of you, you’d best be carrying chests heaping with gold! Eyvind shouted over his shoulder, already heading back through the trees to his small throne, where he would await their return.

Sewage sloshed under Asa’s boots, the sickening smell of urine and feces like a thick smog around her. Soreness had set into her lower back from being hunched over as they hiked the last three miles through the rainforest, crouched with the weight of her shield on her back. As the forest thinned, Einar led their group of fifteen through the muck, their boots thick with mud and shit, the moon casting a soft white glow through the trees shielding a city of gold and jewels. Guards stood near torches outside the city’s outer wall. Probably too afraid to stand watch in the dark, Asa thought. Cowards.

Two near the gate, four on the bridge above them, and six more sat perched in guard towers along the outer wall. Asa looked to her brother for direction, but he stood still and silent, waiting, listening.

Where are they? Sigurd, one of their warriors, whispered. He was the son of the blacksmith in Kjos and one of the biggest whiners Asa’d ever known. Even in childhood he irritated her with his cocky attitude and weak demeanor. Asa couldn’t see him in the dark. Should they not have been here by now? He pointed south, through the trees, to where golden sands rolled out into the ocean. Heahmund planned to attack from both the south and the west, insisting they destroy the city’s shipyard before raiding the city. The south beach was quiet, and their army was nowhere in sight.

Do y’think they’ve been lost at sea?

No. No, Heahmund is the best ship captain we have. He’ll find his way here. Be patient. Einar was studying the guards from afar, his voice flat and expressionless. Their armor flickered red and black in the light, their expressions blank and bored, clueless about what was to come. A hefty man, bulging from the seams of his armor, leaned against the wooden gates, eating berries from a red-stained hand. Einar chuckled with excitement, likely at the thought of his ax plunged into the base of the fat man’s trunk.

Brother, what should we do?

Asa waited an appropriate amount of time before voicing the question. She knew how he was before a battle. His eyes never left the guards. She imagined he was envisioning himself slaying every one of them, his ax cutting through them like the tender meat of a young cow. She wasn’t as patient as he was, nor was the rest of their group, who were getting antsy now, idly twirling their weapons in their hands with bloodthirst in their eyes.

There aren’t enough of us to take the city by ourselves. We wait. As long as it takes.

What if the sun comes up before then? They’ll spot us, and we’ll be dead men. Asa gave Sigurd a coarse look, and he withered. A-and women. You know what I mean.

If the sun rises and there’s no sign of them, we’ll hike back into the forest and wait it out in the trees.

But Einar—

Einar looked at him intimidatingly, his eyes firm and his jaw set. We wait then…

Asa found a dry spot to sit upon a bed of moss, her eyes heavy with sleep but her body tingling with the energy of an arrow just before it’s shot. She watched her brother where he stood, ankle-deep in gray muck, still watching the guards pace. For the first time in an hour, he moved, perked his ear toward the shore, and listened carefully. The rush of waves grew louder, more consistent. Even in the dark, she could see his lips pull up at the corners. The sound of rowing oars. Einar nodded at one of the men to go and check.

The man trudged carefully, so as not to alert the guards as he moved down to the beach. He crawled over the median of land between the swamp and the beach and peeked his head around the trees. Asa squinted through the darkness, watching his body language, though the hum of oars told her all she needed to know. Carefully carved wooden boats came ’round the bend of the beach, sails marked with the sigil of King Orson folded up, her uncle Heahmund at the bow of the nearest boat, smiling at them. His long, gray hair flew away from its neatly tied knot in the wind. His face was wrinkled and tired but still full of life. He’d seen many battles in his life. She’d always admired that about him. His resilience in battle was something spoken about in many sagas she’d heard. Heahmund chose a life of battle, never taking a family of his own. Of course, that did not mean he did not enjoy women after a victory, blood still spattered through his beard and hair. Eyvind and his children were all the family he needed. He’d told her so many times.

What did I tell you? Heahmund is the world’s best ship captain. No storm or kraken could hinder him from his journey!

Einar readied himself for battle, unsheathing his longsword and his single-hand ax. Asa readied herself as well, untying her fur hood and placing it neatly on the bed of moss, covering it with leaves and other debris to hide it. She unsheathed her sword, the one her father had given her recently. The high-quality steel felt heavy in her hand. She’d always preferred her ax. The muck coating her boots had dried slightly, making them lighter and easier to move in. She gave her brother a smirk, which he returned. It was then the horn sounded, transforming the world around them from the stillness of a quiet night into the fire and chaos of battle.

At first, the guards seemed confused. Asa and Einar watched them from the shadows, axes ready, minds clear with one goal. Then the guards understood. As the boats came into view, they scattered nervously. Most of them began taking turns climbing the ladders of the guard towers, while others pushed their way inside the closing gates. The soft sound of distant screams lulled Asa into a trance. Their men rushed the remaining guards, pulling them from rungs mid-climb, stabbing swords into their chests. An arrow whistled past Asa’s head, and she looked up to see four guards in the left tower with bows pulled taut, pointed in her direction. Time slowed as the arrows whizzed through the air, dancing toward her. She stared up at them, her shield arm frozen. Einar threw out his arm to protect her, the wood of his shield splintering as the arrowheads tore through the front of it. Asa took a breath, the world still buzzing around her. The fear of it intensified the buzzing, catapulting her into an energized rage.

Heahmund approached from the rear, still smirking, twirling his longsword like it weighed nothing at all.

Glad you made it. Some men were worried about you. Asa scoffed at Sigurd, his cheeks crimson with embarrassment. Heahmund threw his arm around her shoulders, a stale, salty aroma coming from his skin.

I travel on the sea’s time, not mine. I sail as quick as she allows me to and no faster.

We are happy you’re here either way, Einar whispered before dashing headlong into battle.

Heahmund paused, noticing the surrounding screams, the sounds of steel on bone, and the smell of blood in the air.

We’re missing all the fun. He drew his sword and ran toward a thin, shivering guard at the center of the chaos. The city gates creaked open, and more warriors emerged, yelling, swords and axes raised above their heads. Men jumped from the sides of ships, crashing into the water before rushing the beach where both sides came together and, in that moment, steel and blood were the only things that existed.

Asa watched as a weary guard approached her brother. This man was no warrior. His sword hung loosely in his small hands. Einar sneered at the man before lifting his sword and cutting the man’s throat. His body fell slowly, choking, gasping, and twitching until he went still. She watched from the shadows as two men swarmed her brother before hurrying his way, stopping long enough to stick her sword through the stomach of the man rushing her from the left. His eyes widened in shock, his sword tumbling to the ground. Asa looked into his eyes, watched as life drained from them, the shake of his pupils slowing to a stop, and shoved his body off the end of her sword with a grunt.

Einar fought better than most. Several men swarmed him, holding their swords and axes up, lips curled in snarls. One of them was bleeding now. A crimson stain grew on the ribs of his cream tunic. He looked frantic, like Asa remembered feeling the first time she saw real blood. It was stickier than she’d imagined it would be. Thicker too. The frightened man thrust his sword at Einar, missing by a foot. As he attempted to step back, he twisted an ankle on a stone. A misstep in footing, a deadly mistake. Einar took a seax from the hem of his pants and flung it at the man, blood spurting from his neck where it landed, sending the man to his knees. Blood gurgled up from his throat and dribbled down his chin. He clawed at his neck, trying to get the blade out, but quickly succumbed to the blood pouring from his throat like a fountain.

Another man lunged at Einar from behind, but he was oblivious. Asa twirled her ax between her hands before taking off in a sprint. The steel of her ax whistled through the air as she came down upon him, casting a shadow over him before sinking its thick blade into the top of his head. The cracking of his skull got Einar’s attention. His icy blue eyes met hers and she gave him a look that told him to be more careful. He nodded, squeezing her shoulder before returning to battle, their backs touching as they fought off a horde of frightened civilians who’d spilled out of the city gates.

Heahmund led their men through the breached gates into the small city after the group slaughtered those brave enough to come out and fight. Asa respected them, respected anyone who had the guts to fight for their life rather than cower and wait.

The streets were littered with sloping shacks and wet straw huts stacked tightly on top of one another. Hundreds of civilians ran screaming through the streets, tripping over the flattened bodies of their neighbors as Einar’s warriors took over the city. Most of the civilians ran for the fortress in the center, but a few stayed behind to fight. The ones who stayed behind held weapons with nervous hands, awaiting their imminent death, accepting that they were simply sandbags piled up to give the others a head start. Heahmund raised his sword in the air and let out a bellowing war cry, which empowered his warriors. Their war cries followed, filling the air with a tingling, as if the air were buzzing in the summer heat. But it was night now, and the cool breeze from the ocean sent a chill up Asa’s spine. The city buzzed with the energy of a thousand warriors, slicing their way toward a capital of riches they could take home to their families. Heahmund was smiling, no doubt wondering how many sheep he could buy for his farm with all the gold he’d return home with. An average-sized man ran at him with his ax held high above his head, a murderous look in his eyes. Heahmund stuck out a trunk-sized arm to stop him, the man’s chest cracking upon impact. His eyes widened in fear for just a moment before his body fell into the pile behind him. Heahmund climbed over bodies, the golden castle with peaking towers in his sights, red and black banners strung over the walls. He rushed the building with the other warriors, who were already attempting to pry the doors open.

Covered in blood and soot, Asa leaned against a shack to catch her breath. A cut on her wrist shot pain up her arm, but the sounds of battle around her made it easy to forget. A frail woman emerged from the shack with a baby wrapped in her arms. Asa and the woman looked at each other for a long moment before the woman began retreating.

No. Asa felt a twinge of guilt, then a twinge in her arm. She seethed. Go. The woman stared at her, unmoving. Asa couldn’t take her gaze away from the woman. She saw herself reflected in the woman’s eyes. Her golden hair stained with dark, dried blood, streaks of sweat cutting across her face, black war paint smudged. The battle carried on around them, the scream of innocents filling the air, the grunts of men swinging their axes, pulling them from flesh with a squelch. Go!

The woman ran backward frantically, her eyes fixed on Asa until she was out of sight. The air buzzed with energy again just as a sword came down at Asa’s shoulder from behind. She lunged forward, rolling out of the way. He came after her again, determination in his furrowed brow. Dressed in steel armor, the man was no simple civilian. This was a warrior, a man trained to kill, perhaps from a young age. He’d probably spent the first decade of his life becoming comfortable killing. She felt bad for him. She imagined he’d never gone hunting with his brother and father, never came home laughing with a small pheasant in his hand to show for all his hard work. His eyes were empty. Where empathy and compassion should have been, there was only rage. Asa jumped to her feet, steadying herself with both her sword and ax drawn. The weight of her sword slowed her down some, but she’d need both to fight him off. He was a large man, tall enough to tower over Asa, who was no dainty woman. She swung at the man with her sword arm, catching the tip on his armor as he dodged. The two of them circled each other like two alpha wolves from opposing packs fighting over a fresh carcass, piles of bodies creating a ring around them. He lunged at her, arms wide, sword drawn. He let rage overcome him. It was a senseless move.

Never, ever, allow your opponent to enrage you to where you cannot control yourself anymore. Control is the only thing you have to protect yourself in battle, she remembered her father telling her when she picked up her first training sword. He’d knocked her down several times before sharing his wisdom. He’d first wanted to see what her instinct was.

Asa stood her ground, watching as the angry soldier ran at her, mouth foaming, arms wide enough to wrap around her twice. When he got within a few feet of her, she ducked, lunging around his broad body. She quickly crouched, pulling her sword back and plunging it deep between his ribs before he had the chance to turn around. The sword screeched as it passed through the steel of his armor. He yelled in pain, clutching his chest. Tears welled in his eyes. The warrior cried out one last time before there was more blood pooled around him than left inside. Asa stood over him, watching him writhe, wiping his blood from her face with her wrist.

You fought bravely. You will be feasting with the gods soon enough. Sleep now. He gave Asa an angry stare as he faded into nothingness.

The battle raged on around her. She looked for her brother through the sea of fighting, spotting him just as he entered the castle, the gates swinging on their hinges behind him. Asa pushed her way through the city. Fire was spreading over thatched roofs all around her, screams echoing throughout the streets. It was chaos. Asa spent much of her time in its midst, and she loved every second.

Einar had taken the lead, drenched with the blood of three dozen men, dripping with it like a wolf who’d gotten into a rabbit’s nest. His men stormed the castle, flanking left and right up the stone stairs to the throne. A slim young man with his legs crossed sat upon it. He smirked at them as they entered, as if the fifteen men in his throne room would protect him.

You cannot be here! a guard yelled from his post.

Says who? Einar taunted.

T-this is a sacred place. Don’t make me kill you here!

Please, do we need to resort to such heathenry?

Einar let out a guttural laugh. The boy-king was thin, his arms no thicker than Einar’s longsword. He dressed in elegant red and black robes, a bronze owl pinned on his chest. A black mane hung down over his shoulders, a golden crown on his head.

I came here for only one thing. If you give it to me, I will spare your life and the lives of your people. Those who are left, anyway.

The king’s shoulders relaxed. His queen’s eyes were filled with terror. She sat beside him on a small wooden chair. Nothing as extravagant as the throne he sat upon. Woody tropical vines twisted like knots to form a throne made for the King of the Rainforest.

What do you want? His voice trembled now. He pushed long black hair from his face frantically and stood, repeatedly pushing down the front of his robe. He was a weak man, that much was obvious just by looking at him. The queen was even younger than he. Beautiful too, Einar thought, taking in the way her black hair hung in loose curls over her red dress, her eyes the color of fresh spiced mead.

I have heard stories of a casket filled with gold and jewels. One you filled yourself with the treasures of your victories. I want it.

The boy-king smirked again, and Asa watched as her brother’s eye twitched, knuckles white around the handle of his blade. As quick as a flash of lightning, Einar grabbed one of the king’s guards by the helmet and pulled him close. Without a second thought, Einar plunged the blade into the guard’s exposed neck. Blood ran over Einar’s fingers, down the sheen metal of the man’s armor, and spilled over the floor around them. The boy-king