The Blood Witch (The Blood Reign Chronicles Book 1)
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Authors: D. S. Nielsen
The Blood Witch
The Blood Reign Chronicles
By
D. S. Nielsen
Copyright 2013 D.S. Nielsen,
Published by D. S. Nielsen
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Acknowledgements
I would like to extend a very special thanks to the following people: Joie Nielsen, Dolly Nielsen-Patterson, Jerrine Hollien, Janice Martinez, Crystal McPherson, Laura Ruetz, Deanna Nielsen, Betsy Deardorf, and Harrison Mattos.
Table of Contents
Maps
King Erlandas solemnly stood atop a lofty cliff overlooking the beautifully placid Lake Ineadra which was nestled in the mountains of Hiilfglin. A perfect image of the tall snow capped peaks, bright blue sky, and lush green trees that surrounded the lake, reflected from the glassy surface of the water. The majestic cry of an eagle soaring below echoed off the rocks as the bird of prey plummeted down to snatch its prize. Ripples radiated from the spot, warping and distorting the peaceful image.
Just to gaze upon the expanse saddened Erlandas, since it threatened to root out painful memories that he had locked away deep inside. He had given the lake its name in honor of his beloved wife who had tragically passed away many years earlier during childbirth. Not even the priests or mordji could save her life, or the life of her child. After her passing, the king’s people whom he ruled became his wife. He dedicated himself completely to their happiness and prosperity, but despite everything, there was always a hole inside him where the love of his life had once occupied.
From his vantage point on the cliff, Erlandas could see the monument to his life’s work as king, his castle Bethvain, overtopping the old pine trees in the distance, dwarfing them with its spires. The castle with its lofty towers and wide arching walkways, even now gave Erlandas a morbid sense of pride. However, instead of bustling with life and activity as the capital should be, it was abandoned, cold and lonely, just an empty shell of what it had once been.
The King had sent everyone away more than fifteen days ago. Solitude was what Erlandas earnestly sought now, since he did not want anyone to witness what he was about to attempt. Most of all, he didn’t wish for anyone else to be harmed or killed because of him if things went awry. So now his great castle stood silent, with no clamor in the courtyard, the forges and stables were quiet and cold, and not a single soul walked the broad hallways or peered out a window. The mighty castle was vacant, desolate, and hollow inside, just like King Erlandas.
Even now, Erlandas wondered if he had made the right decision in attacking the witch. After all, the Blood Witch was an abomination, an evil scourge on the land and one that must be eradicated. At least that’s what he told himself to ease his despair at the carnage and bloodshed that had ensued. Had Allysix really been that evil? Even as their king, did Erlandas have any right to condemn all those people to their doom? There were so many that had died in the attempt to take the witch. Thousands, tens of thousands on both sides, and King Erlandas had been their executioner as certain as if he had swung the blade himself. The witch had not attacked the king outright, at least not yet. Perhaps she would have remained content with what power she already held. What right did he have to cause the death of so many of his people just to capture and imprison this one woman?
There was little doubt Allysix was involved in unholy and unnatural rituals. The witch had tapped evil itself in a desperate attempt at immortality, and apparently, she had succeeded. Was that enough to justify his actions? King Erlandas wasn’t sure anymore.
A month ago, King Erlandas had sent the decoy to the West. He had it whispered widely, that they were taking the Blood Witch to the furthest reaches of the kingdom. Far to the west lay a monastery in the mountains many leagues from civilization. Word would spread that the witch was being taken there to be held prisoner. Some in the decoy party that were headed for the monastery believed that instead of taking the witch, they were taking her Staff of Power to be held for safekeeping. Both of these deceptions were necessary to cover the truth. In fact, one lone Arch-Mordji had taken the Blood Witch to a secret hiding place known only to him, where no one would ever find her.
The staff………well, King Erlandas had gotten an alluring taste of the staff’s incredible power when General Soteri and the mordji had brought it, and the witch before him that first day of the trials. The mordji had warned the king that it was evil, and that no one except the witch could wield the staff. But when by mere accident, Erlandas’ hand had grasped the Staff of Power, for that split second, power beyond his wildest imaginings flowed through him. Something inside the king inexorably changed at that moment, and he had not felt fully alive since that fateful day. The power of the staff seemed, for that brief moment, to fill the hole that had been inside him for so long.
King Erlandas peered down longingly at the long wrapped bundle at his feet. He desperately wanted to feel that way again; his very soul yearned for it. Deliberately he untied the cords around the bundle and unfolded the oilcloth covering to reveal the Staff of Power. It looked much like any ordinary length of wood, with nothing to even hint at the power it possessed, but the remembrance of that extraordinary power made the king’s heart race and his hands sweat just to look upon it. The mordji had to be wrong about no one else being able to wield it. After all, Erlandas had felt the unimaginable power of the staff for himself, even if it had been only for a brief moment.
Reaching down with both hands, King Erlandas grasped the staff firmly and its unbelievable power began to rush into him, along with the wondrous joy he remembered and yearned after. It seeped into his bones and infused his flesh and was rapturous and invigorating. It did indeed fill the hole that was inside him to overflowing. More and more power flowed into him and through him. So great was the power that the earth itself began to tremble and shake. However, the king’s elation and joy quickly turned to pain and agony. It felt as if his hands had been doused in pitch and set aflame. The pain crept slowly through his fingers and hands, up his arms and into his body.
Pebbles and sand clattered down the face of the cliff and rained on the lake below as the earth trembled and shook. The king’s vision was becoming clouded from the intense pain, but not so clouded to prevent him from seeing his wondrous castle in the distance as it shook turbulently and tumbled to the ground in a heap of rubble. The king tried desperately to let go of the staff, but despite all his efforts he could not even budge his fingers. The staff felt unnaturally alive in his hands as it writhed and twisted in his grip, making it impossible for Erlandas to release his hold. The pain was overwhelming and blackness was beginning to close in around him. His legs eventually gave way and King Erlandas toppled from the cliff and fell the great distance to the lake below.
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A young dark-haired man, wearing a plain brown robe that was tied at the waist with a silver cord, secretly watched King Erlandas from a distance. Benjim had thought it very odd when the king had sent everyone away from the castle with little explanation as to why they must leave. The king’s behavior had been unpredictable and erratic since he had touched the Staff of Power, almost as if the staff had infected him in some way and was eating the man away little by little.
Benjim was aware of the decoy that had been sent to the monastery in the west, in the nearly uninhabited lands away from civilization. Benjim was also aware that in truth, Arch-Mordji Bellfornas had taken the Blood Witch to a mine in these very mountains to be imprisoned. Benjim was not supposed to know that part of the plan, no one was supposed to know, but Benjim did. Bellfornas would bind the witch in her prison and stand vigil until the ruse was played out, before making the final sacrifice to ensure the location of the Blood Witch remained a secret. Benjim thought it such a shameful waste……...all of this just for one woman. Bellfornas had been Benjim’s teacher, mentor, and friend for the past twenty-five years. Bellfornas was a great man and a powerful mordji, such a shame that he would die in such a manner.
From his hiding spot, Benjim peered intently as King Erlandas unwrapped the bundle which he had carried to the cliff. As Benjim had suspected, the king had indeed taken the Staff of Power for himself. The king raised it overhead and stood with the staff in both hands outstretched towards the heavens.
At first, nothing seemed to happen, but after a few moments, the earth began to tremble, then rock and shake violently. The tall pine trees creaked and danced rhythmically as if they were dancing to a beat. Rocks tumbled end over end, bouncing down the slopes, and Benjim was in fear that the entire mountain might come crashing down around him. Benjim could see the king’s face contorted in a grimace of pure agony. After several long moments, the king pitched forward off the cliff into the lake far below.
The trees ceased their dance and the last few falling rocks rattled to a halt as the shaking subsided. One more tragic end to a once noble and honorable man, Benjim mused grimly. King Erlandas had been a great man and a just ruler, the loss of the king this way left Benjim dispirited, as if the sun shown just a little less brightly with his passing.
