Rebirth Of Legends: Of Ancient Lineage, #1

By Gloria Ribet

Science fiction fantasy adventure;  Travel through other worlds and travel back in time to bring legends together to save a universe.

 

'From the shadows where I stand, I can watch their approach in secret. Tamlin's hammer echoes through the cavern around me with the hollow sound of metal striking metal. Sparks fly across my line of vision each time he brings the mighty hammer down against the anvil. He does not approve of what I am about to do. He will never trust humankind again. How can I blame him? '

275 kb

93 pages

38352 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gloria Ribet
• Release date: Oct 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223616672

Book preview

1

Rathdall

"That which must be hidden.

Is sometimes best kept in the open."

Adias the Traveler

JINGLING HARNESS AND hoof beats warned the retainers of the hunting party's approach. The hunt had gone well, and each unicorn bore its share of the bounty. Kitchen boys rushed to help, moving baggage wagons and dreas out of the way, pulling the fat-laden carcasses free of their bindings and toting them off into the dark cellars. Draca loosened the straps, which secured the tibol he carried and grinned as the waiting boy stumbled beneath its weight.

A little more work now perhaps but think of how good it will taste this winter, Draca laughed. The boy grinned in response, then shifting the weight on his shoulder he scurried after the others. Draca glanced around at the confusion, and for the first time noticed the baggage wagons. He groaned; his second Cousin Alton had arrived and from the amount of baggage, this was to be more than a short visit. Too bad, there would be no way of avoiding the pompous twit. Draca dismounted and led Nightwind through the crowded courtyard to the stable. Jacis, the groom hurried forward, full of apologies.

I'm sorry sir, but I could do nothing. Lord Alton commanded that his men's mounts be given the best stalls.

Jacis matched his pace with Draca as he led his stallion into the stable. Draca was well acquainted with Alton's conceit and was not surprised to find a bay gelding occupying Nightwind's stall. The groom stood by, making helpless fluttering motions with his hands as Draca tossed the bars of the stall to one side, freeing the bay and sending it out into the open corral with a slap on the haunch. He met the man's eyes as he led Nightwind into the now vacant stall.

Has my grandfather died while I was on the hunt?

Your grandfather still rules, and May he long do so.

Draca smiled, Let's not ask for the impossible, Jacis, but while my grandfather lives, no guest gives orders in his house. Find other stabling for the bay. I will inform my grandfather.

Yes, my lord. The groom bowed low and hurried off.

The black unicorn moved restlessly under Draca's hand as he brushed a week's worth of grime and dust from its velvet black coat. Finally satisfied, Draca tossed the brush aside and headed toward the keep. The hall was full of light and music. Tempting aromas drifted through the open archway, hinting at the bounty of the table. Hunger spurred Draca on. In his chamber, he quickly stripped and bathed, hesitating for a moment over his choice of garments, finally settling on a simple warrior's tunic with his badge of rank embroidered on the shoulder. His mother had been the High Lord's daughter and the black stag on a red moon badge of Rathdall appeared on most of his clothing by right, but more so because he had earned that honor by sweat and hard work. His grandfather had made it clear early on that he would accept nothing less. The plain cut of the tunic accented his youth and fitness. His black hair flowed loose to his shoulders, framing high cheekbones and a set of startling blue eyes unique in their icy color. Less than a month before he had earned his warrior rank, but he had yet to earn the right to wear the braid that would mark him a blooded warrior. Finally, satisfied with the vision reflected back at him from the mirror, Draca sighed and headed for the hall.

Branigt, Lord of Rathdall, had already taken his place at the high table when Draca stepped through the archway. The room with its rows of long trestle tables, echoed with noise and light, the ladies of the household added pools of color to the upper tables, standing out among the drab uniforms that seemed to fill the room. Draca's gaze was drawn quickly to his cousin, whose outfit rivaled that of the ladies. Lord Alton had taken the seat normally reserved for him. Draca shrugged briefly and slid into a vacant place at the lower table across from Mordicai, his grandfather's Captain at Arms. His grandfather raised a silver eyebrow, and the conversation around him became hushed.

Do you think that was a wise move? Mordicai asked without lifting his eyes from his plate.

Draca leaned forward to fill his platter. It was the only choice, if one wished to avoid murder in the hall tonight. Lord Alton's grating voice could be heard even at the lower tables as he expanded on his latest hunting expedition. Draca watched Alton spread arms covered in striped pink and purple silk to demonstrate the wingspread of his prey. It was enough to make one heave.

If he came close to an animal, it was because his men were holding it captive already, Draca grumbled. 

Mordicai grinned, then shook his head. No, don't mistake your cousin; he is a very capable man. Never judge a person by the cut of his coat or the words that come out of his mouth. Both can be deceiving.

One way or the other, I fear I will have to learn to live with it, sighed Draca as he rose to his feet.

Or die with it, mumbled Mordicai under his breath as he watched Draca approach the high table.

Draca lifted his goblet in salute and bowed low. Good evening, Grandfather.

Have you finally decided to come give welcome to your cousin? the old lord rumbled.

Ah yes, cousin. Draca paused. Welcome to my grandfather's house.

Branigt’s brow creased into deep furrows, puzzled at Draca's tone.

May I humbly suggest next time, you leave the ordering of the stables to those given the job.

Fury flushed Alton's face, but as he made to rise, a warning hand on his arm stopped the action. He frowned down at the hand belonging to his captain, Havic. Release me you fool! he whispered through gritted teeth. The whelp needs a lesson. The grip tightened.

Ah, the pup is defending an old man's honor, drawled his grandfather. His dark piercing gaze shifted between the two. What imagined insult has your cousin indulged in so soon?

Draca set down his cup and met Branigt's eye. None, if my lord doesn't mind his soldier's mounts being ousted for those of his guest and his servants threatened without his knowledge.

Alton? Branigt's forbidding stare fastened on his nephew. Perhaps, Alton whined, I unknowingly overstepped my bounds, my lord, but no harm was done.

Branigt winced at the tone and frowned at Draca. Have you any other slights you wish to address?

None, Draca glanced pointedly at his stolen seat, that I would consider important. The look on his grandfather's face warned Draca he'd pay for that remark later, but for now he did not care.

THE GRATE OF STEEL against steel disturbed the quiet morning. A rhythmic dance of man and weapon wove in and out around the exercise yard. A long lunge, a quick spin away to return again with a deep downward slash. Sparks flew as sword met sword. Sweat rolled from the combatant's foreheads to dry quickly in the cool morning air. The two were evenly matched in skill, though Draca with his slender youth was easily outweighed by his older opponent. From the shadows Havic watched with narrowed eyes.

What do you think of our young warrior? Mordicai's low drawl cut through Havic's thoughts and startled the truth from him.

That young man is dangerous.

Steel met steel again. Draca forced his opponent back, step by step. The morning sun lit the darkness of his hair and echoed the icy sparkle in his eyes.

What did you expect? He is Branigt's grandson.

Strange ... One would not think it to look at him. In fact, Havic let his words drift off ominously. Mordicai's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. A twist and an agile whirl, a sword spinning in a silver arc to land in the dirt on the far side of the ring, Draca stepped back, his chest heaving with the effort he'd just made, laughing with the relish of youth at victory.

But then perhaps he takes after Branigt's wife, Havic continued. Her people tended toward darkness, did they not? Havic turned to face Mordicai boldly, waiting. Their eyes tested the steel of each other's soul for a long moment before Mordicai replied.

Yes, perhaps that is the answer.

Havic nodded briefly and stalked off, tension evident in the set of his shoulders. Mordicai frowned at his retreating figure.

HAVIC KNOWS.

Branigt turned to face his Captain at Arms. No, Havic guesses. He plays a dangerous game.

So do you. Have you told Draca yet?

No, he is coming to me this afternoon, I'll tell him then.

Everything?

I'll tell him what he needs to know.

Mordicai studied his master. Tall, blonde hair now faded to gray; the once broad, strong shoulders thinned with age. How can you judge what is needed? And what of Havic?

I'll know. And Havic... he paused. Havic I'll leave to you.

DRACA ENTERED HIS GRANDFATHER'S darkened study with soft-footed grace, then stood in silence, waiting. Branigt sat behind his desk, staring out the multi-paned window.

You took your time in coming, but then this is not a meeting one would want to rush to, is it? He turned to face Draca across the room, a bitter twist forming around his lips. Your life and mine both would have been easier if you had looked like your mother, do you realize that? But the powers that decide such matters chose that you should flaunt the image of your northern father.

I am not ashamed.

No, you are your mother's son in that. You had no choice in your lineage, so it would be a waste of energy to be ashamed of it. Still, it matters; my time is running out, and I must choose an heir, one that I can send to Myron's court to speak for my people. And it cannot be you.

Because of my looks? Draca asked solemnly.

Because of your looks, Branigt agreed. Even if you got as far as Myron's throne room, you'd die there.

So, Alton will inherit Rathdall, Draca stated. And what of me?

That is up to you. Branigt raised the lid of a small wooden chest that rested on the desk and lifted from it, a medallion. The sun caught the whirling disk and outlined the image of a golden dragon holding a milky white stone in the claws above its head. The stone seemed to swirl with a liquid motion, while the emeralds that formed the eyes flashed fiery green with each turn. This is yours. When you came to this house, it was around your neck. I've kept it hidden these many years.

Draca wrapped his fingers around the gold disk and felt it warm to his touch. Was this my father's?

"I always assumed so, but I do not have the answers you seek. I never met your father. Your mother even refused to tell me his name, and the soldier that brought you here said it would do no good for anyone to know. The badge of my house will always be yours to wear by right, but there may soon come a time when you must seek something more. When that time comes, you must seek to the north. In this place you are safe, but elsewhere in the south your face could seal your death warrant before you had a chance to speak, always remember