Curse of Blades (Blades #1)

Chapter 1

[Freshly edited July 26th, 2021.]

The walls were wet with blood. It flowed from the images of the people he had killed, all perfectly arranged from the first to the most recent. They were there to remind him of his cruelty, to accuse him of his crimes. To drown him in the blood that stained his hands. He was suffocating, held down by the weight of the knowledge that he was a monster of the worst kind. A killer. These people had done no wrong, he had. Only letting them destroy him would right that wrong.

Then he was drowning. He held his arms out, accepting the end, accepting his death by their ever flowing blood. Perhaps this time it would truly happen. Maybe this time he wouldn't wake from his nightmares.

Then the familiar stranger arrived. Shrouded, as usual, in dark colors that masked all details, the figure moved through the sea of blood to his side. A gloved hand reached out and touched his face, lifting away all the guilt and misery. In their place was left a strange peace that he only felt when the figure appeared in his dreams.

And the dream vanished, leaving peaceful sleep.

Which was soon disrupted by a heavy pounding on his door.

Coulta sat up in bed and was amazed to see the brightness of the room. He rarely slept past dawn when the dreams haunted him. And he actually felt rested, which was just as unusual.

The pounding on his door came again and he reluctantly forced himself out of bed. At the door he found Yerik, the aging castle servant who seemed to have the sole job of fetching Coulta for their master.

"Master Varin would like to speak with you," Yerik told him, as if his appearance at Coulta's door could mean anything else. "At your earliest convenience."

Coulta knew enough to understand that he was expected immediately. "Thank you."

Yerik nodded and left. Coulta closed the door behind the servant and quickly set about making himself presentable. He changed into black trousers and a tunic, yanked on his boots, and settled his shoulder-length black hair with his fingers. Shaving could wait until he returned. Whenever that would be.

Varin was waiting for him in his lavish office where the red-hued tapestries and upholstery reminded Coulta of the dream he'd had that night. It was a dream he was familiar with, a dream that haunted him through his days as well.

Lord Varin wore a gaudy gold dressing robe and was eating his breakfast at his desk. When Coulta saw the other man in the room, he struggled to hide his scowl. Roane was dressed much like Coulta in dark colors, though he had pulled his brown hair back so it couldn't hide the half-healed cut on his left cheek.

A cut Coulta had put there.

Too bad he'd missed his mark.

"Ah, there you are," Varin said when he saw Coulta walk into the center of the room.

Coulta bowed. "I apologize, my lord."

Varin waved him off. "I have a job for you. This one is more important than any other."

Coulta didn't believe that when Varin said the same thing about every assignment. "I'm yours to command," he gritted out.

Varin grinned. "Very good. The bastard Grand King is sending an envoy here to attempt to bribe me into surrendering to their demands. You will kill the envoy and his escort. And I want his head delivered to me."

"Yes, my lord." Coulta knew nothing about the politics that surrounded his life – he was kept ignorant and he knew it – but he doubted Varin had a good reason to want these men dead. The earl of Arren was just a cruel, bloodthirsty monster.