As an extra Christmas gift, here is the first chapter of Forged by Betrayal and Blood. The cover is a placeholder, cover reveal will occur in 2026. This is a first draft, so not edited and subject to change, but I hope you enjoy all the same!
Chapter 1 – Vael
The thundering roar of the waterfall behind Vael filled the valley, concealing any sign of the approaching raiding party. The ground trembled beneath his feet from the power of the rushing water. They were in the worst position possible, blocked by the fast-moving river on his left and sheer cliffs on his right. He didn’t understand how his men had been coerced into such an obvious ambush.
Licking the fine spray off his lips, he snarled a command to spread out and then climbed the nearest tree. There would be no fancy strategies today, brute force would have to prevail. His men were well trained and efficient. They had been together longer than most, knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses; a blessing he knew he couldn’t take for granted, not with Emperor Talon Shaleri the Deranged on the Celestial Throne.
Ignoring the desire to analyse where he had gone wrong, Vael peered down the edge of the valley, the only approach left for his adversaries. Lars, his second in command, and one of his closest friends, flashed his hand open five times. Twenty-five against his twelve. Not insurmountable, though more than he’d thought.
A mountain of a man, Lars barely fit into the emperor’s imperial army uniform of navy blue and gold … Vael winced, who was he kidding? Lars never wore regulation uniform whenever he was out of sight of the senior officers. He said Vael didn’t count and squeezed his broad frame into a much more comfortable assortment of brown and green shirts and britches. Surprisingly, it did help him to blend into the scenery. Vael blinked. He had done it again, for such a large man, he could move with stealth and speed, and he’d vanished.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say Lars could cloak himself, but mage skills were few and far between and tightly controlled by the emperor, much like everything else. No matter, Lars had stood beside him for the last ten years, and Vael relied on his support, more than he liked to admit.
All his men, himself included, were outcast for one reason or another. Sent to the farthest reaches, unsupported and badly provisioned, they had learned to be self-sufficient, only reliant on each other, and as a result, had become a much tighter unit. He counted each man as family, closer to him than his blood relations who had disowned him at the emperor’s behest.
The twang of a bowstring below him, warned Vael that they were within firing distance. Seth had used his initiative and loosed when they came in range. The deafening roar behind him meant he couldn’t hear if Seth hit his target, but he had little doubt he had. Seth was lithe and lethal, half the size of Lars and just as deadly.
Sighing out his breath, he grimaced, all his men were lethal. They had little choice but to hone their skills if they wanted to stay alive; no one else would help them. When Seth pointed to his right and raised two slender fingers, Vael nodded and crept forward, praying the branch would hold his weight. Much as he teased Lars for his size, he himself was no lightweight.
The sight of two men dressed all in black and wearing silver headbands made him freeze on his perch. Farsolian? They were far from home. Why would a warband from Farsol be hunting them down? He threw off the question and eased himself forward. When they passed below him, he dropped out of the tree, thrusting his dagger into the lead man’s neck and pulling the sagging body in front of him as a barrier. Ignoring the shock of the landing, vibrating through his body, he rotated into the second warrior.
Steel flashed, and he blocked the strike with the body he used as his defence. Stiffening his fingers, he jabbed at the man’s throat as he released his human shield. His opponent deflected his blow and struck low, Vael grunted at the low burn in his gut and batted away the follow up, crowding the man back the way he had come. Low thuds, sudden pain, all blended into one as he fought. His throat burned, the moist air harsh against his lungs as he quickened his strikes until his blade struck true, and the man slumped to the ground. Vael gasped for breath, tasting the tang of blood and rotting vegetation.
The ground vibrated with pounding feet as a man charged forward, hissing harsh words Vael didn’t understand, as he whipped out a coil of wire. A garrotte. Vael backed away, his heart rate spiking as he risked a glance across the clearing. Bodies littered the grass, though his men were holding. He couldn’t see any of his men down.
Hard black eyes inspected him. “So, you are Tor Arne the Butcher. I thought you’d be bigger.”
Vael ignored the insult. “Big enough.”
“Only against innocent women and children. Such a one as you do not deserve to live. But it is not my decision, there is someone who wants to speak with you.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Even to save your men?”
“My men are fine.”
“But for how much longer? Your emperor does not value your life; he has already sentenced you to death. Only one as sadistic as him would draw it out so painfully.”
“You just said I deserved it.”
The man shrugged. “Resources such as you are … rare. I work for one who recognises this.”
“I am not for hire.” Vael darted forward and then all his breath rushed out of his body as a wall of heat slammed into him. He staggered back, flailing as the force pushed against him. A mage? Here? Vael’s brain seized up at the impossibility. He struggled to regain his feet, only to be pummelled by another blast. Voices yelled as he was driven back, the scent of singed hair and burnt cloth filling his nose along with the fresh edge of scintillating power.
His foot sank into gloopy mud, and his heart stuttered. Suction pulled his leg deeper, and he twisted, desperate to find something to grab, anything, as his other foot was sucked into the grasping bog.
Icy cold water crept up his thighs and over his groin; cuts and grazes stung as the murky liquid sucked him down.
“We need him alive, you fool,” an angry voice shouted, and Vael searched for the speaker. A tall man waved his hands in the air as he berated another grey-robed, man beside him. All he could make out were glittering green eyes in a shadowed face which observed him as he sank to his chest, and a vicious burn slashed across his side. Before he could speak, the mage’s hands flashed with blue sparks and vines slithered around his neck and then his arms, the mage’s power dragging him under.
Vael convulsed and kicked, but the drag was relentless as he was pulled deeper. He couldn’t see what he was fighting; he couldn’t breathe. Thick muck consumed him, and he choked as brackish sludge filled his lungs. Reaching, he pushed his senses out, searching for help, struggling to survive.
Mine, a faint voice said on a deep snarl, and Vael flinched against the sudden pain spiking in his head as darkness descended.
***
Lars panicked. He would never admit it if anyone accused him of it, but his heart nearly failed as the mage attacked Vael. What was a mage doing here? They were so rare they were usually kept out of the field and well-protected. A moment ago, Vael had seemed in control, and in the moment he had glanced away, it had all changed. “Regroup!” he yelled.
Lars didn’t stop to think, he ran towards the last place he had seen Vael before he was pulled under the surface. The ripples were still spreading across the murky gloop, lapping innocently against the dry land.
An arrow flew past Lars, and the mage jerked and threw out his hand, his mouth opening as if to chant another spell, but another arrow thumped into his back, followed by a third and the warrior beside him turned towards the threat as the mage crumpled.
Lars cut through him; his motion unchecked as he flung his sword aside and stormed into the bog after his friend.
“Lars, hands up!” Jan’s sharp voice shouted behind him, and he raised his arms just as a rope dropped over him and cinched around his chest. He didn’t falter but dived into the turgid water. Ignoring the slime and rotting vegetation, he pulled through the muck, the rope taut around his chest, his fingers questing for Vael. The gloop swirled as a mass loomed towards him, and he grabbed at material and muscle.
Hugging his burden, he yanked on the rope, and it jerked, dragging them through the bog. They jerked to a stop as Vael’s clothes snagged on something, and Lars gripped Vael’s body tighter, refusing to give it up. The rope dug into his chest, his skin burning as it strained, and then they were moving again, until they were hauled out of the bog and onto the grass. Frantic hands grabbed Vael and rolled him onto his back.
Lars spat out mud and knelt beside them, gulping in air as he watched his friend, Jan, ripping at the vine’s coiled like a noose around Vael’s throat. Jan cleared the muck from Vael’s face, scooping it out of his mouth. His expression betrayed his fear. “What do we do?”
The clash of steel rang around the clearing, but Lars ignored it. His stomach churned at the sight of Vael’s limp body and pallid skin. “Where’s Mort?”
“Here,” a gruff voice said as a grey-haired man knelt beside them and laid his fingers against Vael’s mud-smeared throat. Jan moved out of the way with obvious relief.
Mort gave Lars a searing glance. “Are you hurt?”
Lars rubbed his sore chest. “No, I’m good.”
“Go help the others, clear the threat.”
“But …”
“Go, else there’ll be no point resuscitating him.” He placed his hands on Vael’s chest and began pumping.
Lars gave the medic a scowl before grabbing the nearest sword and rushing back into the fight. Though to be honest, the remaining men didn’t need him. They had cleared the way to the valley entrance, and there were no more Farsol warriors for him to kill.
Scowling down at the slumped bodies, Lars rolled one over and briefly searched his clothes, but he came up empty handed. These men were travelling light, weapons only.
“Vael?” Seth asked as he limped up, his bow clutched in his hand. His face was smeared with blood, but Lars didn’t think it was his own. His mismatched leather armour was blood splattered, his scabbard worn and scuffed, though the sword gripped in his other hand glinted with a blade sharp enough to cut through skin and bone. For a man once known for his penmanship, Seth was the epitome of a highly trained and resilient soldier.
“Mort’s got him. He’s unconscious.”
“What’s a mage doing here, Lars?”
“I don’t know.”
“He was after Vael. Why won’t the emperor leave him alone? Hasn’t he done enough damage?”
“I don’t think it was the emperor this time,” Lars replied, frowning at the black clad bodies. He looked up as the rest of the men gathered around him. “Anyone injured?”
The immediate flood of crude insults made him grin. Vael’s men were hardened and resilient. “Seth, you and Jan go find a campsite. Somewhere secluded; we’ll need a fire. Rest of you, make certain they’re all dead, collect the weapons, and then go get the horses. We need to get out of this death trap.”
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