An Excerpt from Chapter 5 (Intrigue in the Court of Ravendune)

Brandin led Lady Jessica to a secluded

area of the castle which looked out over the gardens. It was quiet and peaceful.

She turned to him, her expression stoic. “Lord Brandin, what do you know of your real father?”

Brandin regarded her with a puzzled expression. “I know almost nothing of my true origins. The priests brought Eric and I to our father when we were but newborns.”

Jessica looked sympathetic, her hand touching his cheek.

“You poor dear, your mother abandoned you...” her voice was soft, sweet. Brandin felt an urge to kiss her but he remembered himself.

“M’lady, you said you know who my real father is, please tell me,” he said, waiting for an answer.

She nodded taking his hands in hers. “Your true father was the father of Duke Armand of

Wolfshire. Your mother was his...mistress. Thus you are Duke Armand’s half-brother,” she explained.

“Armand’s half-brother?” Brandin repeated, disbelieving. “Yes,” she answered. “It is true, when the two of you were born, your mother disappeared with you, knowing you would never be heirs to Wolfshire- since Armand was the

Firstborn. He was the only legitimate son,” she replied.

Brandin felt anger swelling inside him. “Are you saying Eric and I are the bastard sons of the old Duke of Wolfshire?”

Lady Jessica squeezed his hands. “Please forgive me, I meant not to insult you, but I felt you and your brother should know the truth,” she was near to crying.

“My father, Lord Magnus is fearful of Duke Armand. It is said he wishes to be King of Amarcain and will wage war with those who do not support his ambition, she explained further.

“There are those in Wolfshire who would like to see him dethroned, and would welcome the rule of one of the old Dukes’ other sons,” She fell into his arms, sobbing.

“Please do not be angry,” she pleaded. “I swear before all the Gods it is the truth.”

Brandin held her, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry Lady Jessica, please do not cry. I’m not angry with you.”

He comforted her as best he knew how, wiping the tears from her face. She looked up at him, her eyes full of sorrow. Again he felt the urge to kiss her.

Who is this girl? He wondered, why am I so attracted to her? He looked into her deep blue

eyes; wondering if she was indeed telling him the truth.

“So you are saying that since Ravendune has a surplus of Heir Dukes, that Eric or I should assume the throne of Wolfshire- if Armand is deposed?” he asked summarizing what she had said thus far. Jessica smiled at his sarcasm.

“Yes, that is what many in Wolfshire wish for.”

Brandin sighed, “M'lady, you have given me much to think of. I shall discuss this with my brother. How long will you be in Ravendune?”

Jessica smiled, replying. “I shall be here a few days more.”

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Excerpt from Chapter 4 (Bring me the Head of a Troll!)

Chapter Four: The Test of Knighthood.

They waited by the campfire as it approached sundown, eating a rabbit they had caught in the forest and washing it down with more ale. Soon, darkness had fallen and the forest was alive with the chirping of insects and the calls of night predators.

“Eric,” said Brandin. “What if more than one Troll lives in that river?”

Eric scowled, “Then I suppose we’re in for a bit of trouble brother,” He replied. Brandin smiled nervously, throwing a few more branches onto the fire.

The night was dragging on slowly and the twins were growing restless, deciding to go investigate the bridge. They walked halfway across, towards the Ravendune side and peered into the wet darkness of the river below. Eric carried a lit torch with him and held it out over the water, seeing nothing but his reflection in the river below. “Perhaps we’re wasting our time here brother,” commented Brandin. “I don’t think there is any Troll around here,” he added.

As if on cue, a leprous gray hand reached out of the river, grabbing Eric's torch hand and pulling him over the edge with a splash. Eric surfaced, spitting out water as the Troll struck him across the head, knocking him further away from the bridge.

Brandin shouted, drawing his sword and leaping into the water onto the back of the creature. He plunged his sword into its back, seeing its point emerge from the Trolls’ chest. The creature howled pitifully, a mixture of pain and anger. It began swinging around wildly, trying to throw off Brandin.

Eric drew his own sword, striking the creatures’ left arm, severing it at the elbow. Black ichor gushed from the wound as the creature grabbed Eric with its remaining hand, lifting him from the water and slamming him into the cobblestone bridge. Eric fell into the water half conscious. Brandin twisted his sword blade, wrenching it free to strike at the creatures’ head.

The creature spun around, slamming Brandin against the bridge, feeling him fall free. Eric emerged from the water, gasping for air as he brought up his sword to strike the Troll again.

He swung his sword in a deadly arc, half- severing the creatures’ neck. The Troll was now choking on its’ blood, striking desperately at Eric, its nails tearing into his tunic and across his breastplate.

“Brandin! the campfire, get the oil and crossbow!” he shouted as the creature

struck him again, Its’ nails digging into his chain mailed arm.

Brandin staggered out of the water, collecting the oil flasks and cross bow. He quickly took one of the oil soaked arrow tips and loaded his weapon, taking a torch with him. He

scrambled back to the water’s edge as the Troll grabbed Eric’s sword in mid stroke, pulling him off balance. Eric pulled out his dagger, plunging it into the creature’s side. He then wrenched his sword from the creature’s hand.

Brandin lit the arrow, taking aim and firing. The bolt struck the creature in the back, the flame slowly igniting its’ blood. Eric shouted in triumph.

“Brandin, the oil flask, throw it to me!" Brandin followed his instructions, tossing his brother the flask.

Eric caught the flask, opening it and dousing the Troll with its contents. Brandin knocked another flaming arrow to his bow. He fired, the shaft plunging into the Beasts’ chest, quickly engulfing its body in flame.

Eric fell backwards trying to avoid the thrashing of the creature. He struck it one last time with his sword, severing its head completely. He reached down into the water to retrieve it, throwing it to the riverbank.

Eric staggered from the water, falling exhausted at his brother's feet. He wiped the wet hair from his eyes and gave out a heavy sigh.

“Well done brother,” said Eric, as Brandin sat down beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“You did well too brother,” replied Brandin.

They both sat there awhile, laughing and discussing the battle. “It was a long enough wait, but we've done it. We’re Knights now brother,” exclaimed Brandin.

Eric nodded, the realization now hitting him. “Yes, we’ve passed,” he said smiling. 

“Come,” said Brandin. “Let’s go and dry off by the fire before we catch our death of cold.”

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An Excerpt from Chapter 3, The Springfeast

Brandin led Kristana past the vast gates of the castle courtyard into the Royal gardens. These were situated within the center of the huge Citadel.

As they passed, the guards saluted Brandin; raising their halberds to admit them. Outside, the night was cool and the air was filled with the scents of dozens of different blossoms.

Above them, the moon was nearly full, casting its’ light upon the scene.

“It is so beautiful out here,” said Kristana. “And look, The stars are so bright, You can see all the constellations.” She added, looking to Brandin, her eyes full of excitement. “What Constellation were you born under?” she asked.

Brandin thought for a moment. “I'm not quite sure; Eric and I were adopted, so we never really knew our actual birth date. I believe we were born under the sign of the hawk, which rules during the second moon of autumn,” he explained.

“We were brought to the Duke a few weeks’ past the feast of Artimedius,” he added.

“You were adopted?” she repeated. “I didn’t know that.” She said intrigued.

Brandin explained to her how the Priests of Madrin had brought them to their father, the Duke. He then pulled open his shirt, baring the flesh just beneath his heart. Kristana turned away at first, blushing. “Please,” she said, embarrassed, “Please, cover yourself.”

Brandin laughed, “I was showing you the birthmark my brother and I have- the Mark of the Holy Sword,” he explained. Kristana turned back to him, her expression a mixture of fear and curiosity.

“You bear the mark of the Holy Sword?” she asked incredulous.

Brandin nodded, showing her the birthmark which was easily visible in the moonlight. “This is why the Priests brought us to the Duke,” He explained as she studied the mark.

“My Gods,” she exclaimed, looking at him with frightened eyes.

She then turned and ran to the garden entrance, crying with fear.

“Kristana, wait!” pleaded Brandin, charging after her. She was well past the entrance and had disappeared down the hallway. When he had reached the guards, she was long gone.

“Shall we go after her M’lord?” asked one of the guards.

“No,” replied Brandin. He turned back to the garden. “That will not be necessary.”

He looked up to the evening stars, cursing himself for a fool; for showing her his birthmark. She is afraid of me, he thought to himself. Now I have lost her.  He proceeded back to the Great Hall, hoping she would be there.

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Excerpt from Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Lord Kaimar

Lord Kaimar was a giant of a man, with a barrel chest and thick, powerful arms and legs. He had a long red beard and mustache, Flecked with gray and his skin was a deep tan color. He was the Baron of Pineshare and the best friend of Duke Ryan von Ravendune. Nearly twenty years before, they had gone off to fight in the Volduvian Campaigns, when that land had sought to invade Dragonshire; one of the easternmost of the Amarcainean Dukedoms.

Since then, Lord Kaimar had been the right hand of Duke Ryan, and trained all the young Squires who sought to join the Knights of the Holy Sword from his Keep in the forest of Pineshare.

He stood atop the battlements of his keep, surveying the Initiates who trained in the courtyard below, armed with sword and shield.

Kaimar wore armor of polished steel, over which he wore a tunic of black, bearing the insignia of Ravendune- a raven; wings spread over crossed swords. At his hip hung a broadsword of steel, which had a hilt of silver and pommel of steel. At his side stood the Duke of Ravendune, who watched the initiates very closely, particularly his twin sons Eric and Brandin.

“We should have some formidable Initiates for the test of Knighthood this year,” commented Duke Ryan.

“I believe so,” answered Kaimar, stroking his long Mustache. “But only a handful of them will succeed regardless,” he added.

It had been seventeen years since the Priests of Madrin had brought the twins to Duke Ryan. When Eric and Brandin were nine, they became Pages in the service of Lord Kaimar. When they turned fifteen, they became his Squires. They took quickly and eagerly to the training in hand to hand combat and weapons required of potential Knights and were Kaimar’s finest pupils.

Both Eric and Brandin were tall, Brandin being slightly taller and both had light brown hair and hazel eyes. They were both handsome and were the fancy of every young girl of noble birth, looking to become Duchess.

Altogether there were twenty Initiates, from throughout the Dukedom, hoping to succeed in the Tournament that would make them knights. They practiced for several hours a day. The rest of the day involved maintenance of Lord Kaimar's keep and work in the stables, washing and feeding his horses.

They all slept in a barracks within the Keep and ate together in the keep's main hall.

It was early spring, and the Initiates were sweaty from their exertions. The sun was beating down on their armored heads. Occasionally, Lord Kaimar would bark out an order to one, correcting their fighting technique.

“No! Not like that, you've overextended your sword arm. Stay within your arm’s width,” he began.  “Do not reach out like that or you’re an easy mark for a counter strike,” he added.

“You there, keep your shield up when you strike! Never let your guard down like that,” he told another. He turned back to Duke Ryan.

 “Your lads are very fast learners’ M’lord. They are easily the best of this bunch.”

The Duke nodded thoughtfully. Indeed, they had progressed faster than he thought they

would. The twins fought with the confidence and prowess of seasoned veterans.

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Excerpt from Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Ravendune

The skies over the Dukedom of Ravendune were grim and foreboding that night. Icy winds whipped through the forests of Pineshare, just east of the castle of the Duke, sending man and beast scurrying for what shelter they could find. Storm clouds, grey and swollen, were moving in on the eastern horizon and with them came the growls of the thunder god, Aegor.

It was the wind that had awakened the Duke, blowing open the shutters of his bedchambers with a loud crack of wood against granite. He was awake Immedietly, his eyes going to that of the ruined window. He muttered a curse at the storms’ intrusion, throwing back the covers of his bed; he lit a small oil lamp which stood on his bed table. The lamp lit quickly, its’ soft golden light bathing the features of the Duke.

He was Ryan Von Ravendune, eighteenth ruler of the house Ravendune, eldest son of Gandric the Great- who had defended Ravendune in the wars with Charlone. As his son, Ryan had inherited one of the most powerful of the sixteen Dukedoms of Amarcain. He had ruled wisely in his seven years as Duke. Ryan was in his late twenties, twenty-seven to be exact, and he was in his physical prime. His body was hard and lean, from years of training in the arts of warfare. His face was handsome, strong cheekbones housed eyes of icy blue, piercing and intelligent. His nose, thin and sharp gave him a hawk-like countenance. His lips were thin and tight and his jaw was strong and pronounced. His hair was a golden hue, close cropped. He looked like some mythical hero that had come to life. He was Lord Knight of the order of Madrin, God of life and light.

He rose from his bed to the cold granite floor, garbed in undergarments of thick gray wool. He threw on a robe of rich black velvet, emblazoned with the standard of Ravendune; a raven, with wings spread, framed by crossed swords. He approached the window, pulling back the splintered wood of the shutters, shivering as the cold night air filled the bedchamber. He looked eastward, beyond the walls of the castle, to the tall swaying pines of the forest beyond. Again, there was a crash of thunder, followed by javelins of lightning which lit the sky for miles. There was something ominous about it all, for thunderstorms such as this were rare this late in the autumn season.

His brooding was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway outside his personal chambers. There was the sound of footsteps and whispering. Soon, there was a gentle knock upon the heavy oak doors to his bedchambers. He heard a voice, that of his servant, Arithomus. “My Lord Duke,” he began. “There is an urgent matter you must attend to.” Ryan proceeded to the chamber doors, pulling them back and admitting him. “Please forgive my waking you Sire, but the High Priest of Madrin is here to see you,” continued Arithomus. He was an elderly man of slight build, with wisps of grey hair. He had been the servant of Gandric, Ryan’s father. “High Priest?” repeated Ryan. “You mean Ignatius is here to see me?” he asked. “That is correct Sire and he wishes to confer with you on a matter of great importance,” answered Arithomus. “It must be, for him to come at this hour,” said Ryan taking Arithomus by the shoulder. “Have Ignatius meet me in the throne room, I shall be down shortly.”

“As you wish Sire,” answered the servant, bowing quickly and disappearing down the hall. Ryan turned, proceeding to his wardrobe. He took off the robe, replacing it with a jerkin of black velvet which was cut at the knee. Over this he put on a voluminous black cloak, trimmed in silver. He then pulled on a pair of knee length boots of black leather and placed the crown of the Dukedom upon his head. He proceeded into an opposite hallway, one which led directly to the throne room. He emerged from behind the throne, pulling back the heavy black curtain which concealed the entrance. He proceeded past the throne, peering into the dimly lit chamber. Servants were lighting the wall sconces as well as a brazier near the throne for warmth. Another servant brought him a cup of mulled wine. The throne room was vast, its’ walls draped with tapestries depicting acts of heroism and chivalry. The Duke seated himself upon the throne, sipping his cup of wine and wondering what calamity might bring the High Priest here at this hour. His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of his servant Arithomus and three figures garbed in robes of white trimmed in blue. “The High Priest Ignatius M’lord,” announced Arithomus, who then bowed and exited the throne room. Ignatius proceeded forward, pulling back the hood of his robe. In his hand he bore the standard of the Church of Madrin; three swords joined in a “T” shape, symbol of the Holy Swords of Madrin, Galoth and Artimedius; patron deities of the Brotherhood. “I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep my Duke, but something has come up, an extraordinary occurrence that must be brought to your attention,” stated Ignatius. He was middle aged, clean shaven with whitish grey hair and a benevolent face. “Of course Reverend Father,” replied the Duke who had now risen from his throne to meet Ignatius at the bottom of the steps to it. “Come see, come and see,” said Ignatius, motioning towards the other two priests, who each held a bundle before them. “Just a few hours ago, Brother Antonius here discovered these poor babes abandoned on the doorstep of the cathedral abbey. Naturally, we took them in, fed and bathed them, when we saw these peculiar birthmarks,” he stated as the two priests uncovered the infants pointing to a spot just below the heart. “They are male twins my Duke and they bear identical birthmarks,” he added as the Duke came closer. “Dear lords,” intoned the Duke, studying the birthmarks. “They look like... swords. They bear the mark of the Holy Swords!” exclaimed the Duke.

“Yes,” said the High Priest. “It is just as the scriptures foretold, that unto Amarcain would come three who bear the mark of the Holy Swords, destined to wield the swords of Madrin, Galoth and Artimedius to defend the land against a great and powerful enemy,” added Ignatius, making the sign of the Holy Swords before him. “But Reverend Father,” began the Duke. “The scriptures speak of three, where is the third child?” he asked.

“That I do not know,” replied Ignatius. 

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The Mark of the Holy Sword

Welcome! This is the Blog for my first Book entitled "The Mark of the Holy Sword" available on Amazon.com and Kindle. Here is the link! Enjoy.

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