SERPENT AND SWORD: A BLOODY ALLIANCE
Free preview of chapter 1.
(cover of book 1. Not final cover design, artwork still in progress.)
SERPENT AND SWORD: A BLOODY ALLIANCE
In the fractured Kingdom of Mournvale, reputation is measured in blood spilt and alliances broken.
When the kingdom's most notorious assassin, Varia, known as the Serpent, accepts a contract from the ambitious Baron Blowdu to kill the tyrannical Duke Tyrus in a final grab for power, she expects nothing more than another routine killing. But her carefully laid plans are thrown into chaos when she crosses paths with Kor, a hulking mercenary with battle lust in his veins and violence in his kills.
Forced into an uneasy alliance, the assassin and the mercenary find themselves entangled in a deadly power struggle, at the centre the future of the kingdom and an ancient sword with unknown powers. As the bodies pile up and nobles' heads roll, Varia and Kor are pulled into deadly games they had no intention of being a part of.
With ruthless sorcerers, calculating nobles, and savage warlords closing in from all sides, they must decide whether to trust each other or fight to the death. But in Mournvale, even the strongest alliances are sealed in blood… and often end with a blade between the ribs.
A brutal tale of swords, sorcery, and survival in a merciless world torn apart by war.
CHAPTER 1
The man died in less than a heartbeat. Perhaps he knew death lurked around every corner. Perhaps he expected death to come one day due to his chosen profession. But did he ever expect his life would end in less than a heartbeat, alone in a dark tunnel?
Before death, he carried a sword. Yet another man's blade killed him…piercing his throat, ripping through muscle and organs, and punching through the back of his neck with a violent spray of blood. When the attacker pulled the blade free, more blood sprayed out, coating the tunnel walls. The man collapsed lifeless to the ground. The attacker, bloody sword in hand, stepped over the corpse and continued into the tunnel. All in a heartbeat.
The attacker was a hulking mercenary known only as Kor. He killed without conscience or question, caring solely that the payment matched the deed. The mercenary continued through the narrow and twisting passages, his large frame scraped against the uneven rock walls. He shifted his stance to the low guard position, sword held at hip level for quick thrusting strikes. The mining tunnels were too confining for his usual style of mighty arcs and follow-through. Here, in the cramped darkness, he'd need the economical movements drilled into him during his young years in the Ashland caves. Short, brutal thrusts.
As the tunnel began to widen, Kor heard the familiar clatter of metal armour echoing in the gloom. The big man paused, tightened the grip on his sword ready for his next opponent. A tall figure in scavenged armour and a large spiked mace in hand, lumbered into view, . The bandit's eyes went wide with surprise as he caught sight of Kor's imposing form. But to his credit, the man swiftly steeled himself and raised his weapon with a bellowing war cry.
His charge was quick but reckless. Kor was faster, his reflexes surprising for his size. His blade cut through the man's arm, severing flesh and bone with a wet squelch. The bandit's hand, still gripping the mace, flew into darkness trailing blood. The man collapsed, frantically clawing at his gushing stump as crimson soaked the dirt beneath him. He screamed once. Kor thrust his blade through the bandit's skull. A wet crunch, and the body crumpled as Kor pulled his sword free.
The mercenary took a moment to listen for signs of further movement ahead. Except for the faint sound of dripping water in the distance and the sporadic clatter of loose stones falling from the recent battle, the tunnels remained silent. Kor could feel the inevitable clash drawing near. The promise of violence and chaos rose within the mercenary like embers in a fire fanned by a powerful wind. Kor pressed onward.
As the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern ahead, Kor slowed his advance, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him. The chamber was littered with the detritus of the mining operation, piles of rubble and rusting equipment scattered haphazardly across the uneven floor. The bodies of several slain workers lay crumpled at the entrance to the cavern. Kor kept still and listened for the faint murmur of voices emanating from deeper within the cavern. He caught snatches of crude banter and coarse laughter, sounds of men who believed themselves safe and secure in their ill-gotten stronghold. The mercenary took a few more steps forward until the rebel band came into view, a dozen or more rough-looking men clad in a motley assortment of scavenged armour and armed with an array of blades, spears, and clubs. They lounged about the cavern with the arrogant ease of predators who had grown fat and complacent after an easy battle and victory over unarmed men. The sell-swords were scattered throughout the chamber, some perched atop piles of rubble or leaning against the sturdy timber supports that held the roof aloft. Kor observed the scoundrels a while longer.
"How much longer do we gotta sit on our arses in this pit?" grumbled a bald, black-bearded brute sprawled atop an overturned mining cart, a solid spiked mace in his grasp.
Another sell-sword, this one lean and wiry with a mane of greasy black hair, sneered at the larger man from his perch atop a nearby pile of timber. "Quit your whining, Jeb," he snapped. "We stay put until the boss gives the word, and not a moment sooner. Less you want to end up like those bastards over there." He jerked his chin towards the crumpled bodies of the slain miners.
"Fuck that," another rebel chimed in, a scrawny, rat-faced man with a thin beard and yellowed teeth. "I didn't sign up for this shit to sit around with my thumb up my arse. I got coin burning a hole in my pocket, and I ain't spending another night in this stinking hole when I could be balls-deep in a warm, willing whore instead."
A chorus of crude laughter and lewd jokes greeted the man's words. As the rebels continued to trade insults and complaints, Kor picked out his first kill. The large man with the mace would need to be dealt with first, his brute strength and heavy weapon making him the most immediate threat. The lean, wiry one with the sharp tongue would be next, his battle scared arms and wicked-looking blade marking him as a dangerous foe in close quarters. The others would crumble beneath his blade with minimal effort, Kor was certain.
The violent fever consumed the big man, now reaching breaking point. Kor took a moment to tighten his grip on the hilt of his sword and let air into his large lungs. It was like air stoking the fires of a furnace, heat intensifying until release was inevitable. Then, with a roar that shook the very stones of the cavern, Kor charged forward into the midst of the startled rebels, his blade raised, primed for the first kill.
The rebels reacted with surprising swiftness, grasping their weapons as they scrambled to meet Kor's assault. Kor's focus remained on the big one with the mace, cleaving through the bodies of the first two rebels that met him. Their bodies hewn apart by Kor's deadly blade, blood sprayed in crimson arcs as he bulled through their collapsing line.
A spear lanced out at Kor's face. He caught the point on his crossed vambraces, the hardened leather turning the blow aside. Kor stepped into the spear wielder. Wrenched the spear from the rebel's grasp. Snapped it in half with a hard knock to the ground. Spun the now half a spear, point forward and pushed it through the rebel's skull.
The large rebel wielding the heavy mace, managed to land a blow on Kor's shoulder, just as Kor had displaced the previous foe. The impact sending a jolt of pain through his Kor’s upper body. The impact fuelled the mercenary's berserker fury as he whirled to face his attacker. A single mighty swing of Kor's blade cleaved the man from shoulder to hip. The rebel crumpled, his corpse tumbling to the blood-slick floor in two gory halves.
A few of the rebels tried to rally, their courage bolstered by the confidence that they outnumbered their lone attacker six to one. They came at Kor from all sides, their blades and spears thrusting and slashing in a desperate attempt to bring him down. He parried a clumsy sword thrust and disembowelled the attacker with a quick counter. Another rebel, wielding a heavy spiked club, tried to cave in Kor's skull with a two-handed overhead smash. Kor sidestepped the blow with ease, his blade licking out to take the man's hand off at the wrist. The rebel stared at his stump in shock, his mouth opening in a silent scream of agony. Before he could draw another breath, Kor's sword took him through the throat, the point punching out the back of his neck in a geyser of arterial blood.
The last three tried to flee, their courage shattering in the face of the mercenary's savagery. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide in the close confines of the cavern. Kor cut them down from behind as they scrambled over the piles of rubble and debris, his blade biting deep into their unprotected backs. By the time the last rebel fell, his head tumbling from his shoulders in a spray of gore, the cavern was a charnel house of death and destruction. Bodies lay strewn across the floor in grotesque heaps, limbs severed and mangled by the force of Kor's blows. Kor stood a moment, his chest heaving, and lowered his sword. The battle was over. No one left to kill. No more screams or clanks of battle. The chaos over.
#
By sunset, Kor emerged from the mine covered in rebel blood. Cuts marked his body, but he ignored the pain. His mind still buzzed from battle, the chaos of combat lingering in his veins. He'd find a healer for the deeper wounds later, after he collected his payment.
The bright sun blinded him briefly as he blinked away the battle haze. The canyon came into focus, with the mining camp visible at the far end among pines and boulders. Smoke rose from the buildings. The camp continued its routine, unaware of the slaughter in the mines.
Kor began to descend the narrow, winding trail that led down into the canyon. As he neared the outskirts of the camp, a figure detached itself from the shadows of the buildings and hurried to meet him. It was a young man, little more than a boy, his pale face awash with equal parts fear and reverence as he caught sight of the gore-drenched warrior striding towards him.
"You... you're him, aren't you?" The youth stammered. "The mercenary the duke sent to clean out the mines?"
Kor grunted in affirmation. He recognised the type—a lowly messenger, hastily dispatched by Duke Tyrus to ensure that the deed had been done and to convey payment for services rendered.
"I am," Kor rumbled. "And I trust you have my coin, boy?"
The messenger swallowed audibly, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the strings of a bulging leather purse tied to his belt. "Y-yes, of course," he stammered, finally managing to free the pouch and extend it towards Kor with trembling fingers. "The duke sends his thanks and his coin, as agreed."
Kor snatched the purse from the boy's grasp, his thick, calloused fingers making short work of the knotted drawstring. Upending the bag over his open palm, he watched with a critical eye as a meagre stream of silver and copper coins tumbled out, clinking softly as they pooled in his hand.
It took only a moment for Kor to realise that something was amiss. The sum was paltry, a mere fraction of what he had been promised for the work of clearing the mines. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenching tight as he fought to control the sudden surge of fury that boiled up from his gut.
"This is not the amount we agreed upon," he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he fixed the messenger with a menacing glare. "Not even close."
The youth went pale, more so than he already was, taking an involuntary step back as he shook beneath the heat of Kor's anger. "I... I'm sorry," he babbled, his words tumbling out in a rush. "The duke said to tell you that resources are scarce right now, what with Lord Vantos demanding ever-higher duties and taxes. He said... he said he'd make it up to you on the next job, I swear it!"
Kor clutched the coins, metal digging into his palm. He ignored the messenger's excuses as rage filled him. This was not the first time a noble had tried to cheat him of his rightful due, treating him as a savage beast to discard after use. Kor knew it would not be the last. The duke should have known better, given the mercenaries reputation. Kor tolerated many things, but anyone who cheated him of payment would face his violence.
For a long, tense moment, he remained silent, his gaze boring into the trembling messenger like a drill bit through soft wood. The boy looked as though he might soil himself at any moment, his face drained of all colour and his knees knocking together in terror. Finally, Kor released a slow, controlled breath, the sound hissing through his clenched teeth. "Very well," he rumbled, his voice deceptively calm despite the rage still simmering just beneath the surface. "You may tell your master that I will accept this... token... as a down payment on what I am owed. But make no mistake, boy. There will be a reckoning, and soon. The duke would do well to have my full fee ready when next we meet, or he will learn firsthand the price of crossing me."
The messenger nodded frantically, his head bobbing up and down like a cork in a storm-tossed sea. "Yes, of course," he babbled, backing away from Kor as though the mercenary might lunge at him at any moment. "I'll tell him, I swear it. He'll have your money, every last coin!"
Kor watched the boy scurry away, the figure disappearing behind the shacks of the mining town. For now, though, Kor had more pressing concerns. He needed a bath, a drink, and a buxom wench to lose himself in, not necessarily in that order. Tomorrow he would head back to Dimgrove, the confront Duke Tyrus.
Scanning further ahead, the mercenary spotting a tavern at the edge of the camp. He headed in that direction with purpose.
#
Kor pushed through the tavern's battered door into an open space of arguments and conversation. He paused, scanning the room as he had countless times before. Men huddled over tankards, whores plied their trade, and serving girls hurried with trays of food and drink.
As the mercenary stepped into the tavern, conversations fell silent. Two armoured men wearing Duke Tyrus' bull insignia pushed past Kor and moved through the crowd, drawing worrying looks. Since Baron Blowdu had made his move against the duke, villages outside Dimgrove regularly saw Tyrus' men patrolling. Kor didn't care which lord ruled, as long as some order remained. Tonight, wine would fill his belly and a wench would ease his mood. Tomorrow, another job would bring more coin.