Chapter 1
Lord Michael Steelheart, Lord and Guardian of Castle Rosewood, sat silently in his study, staring out of the window over the small town of Sevria. Sevria was a prosperous town, located in a thickly wooded valley deep in the heart of the Godstear Mountains. It was one of many small towns that dotted the large mountain range, with a blacksmith shop, several inns, and numerous merchant booths where people sold goods from all around the world.
The most noticeable feature about the town was Castle Rosewood, a formidable-looking fortress named for the bright fragrant flowers which grew around the castle's base in abundance. It stood towering over the village, a place of refuge from the vicious creatures that lived throughout the wild mountains.
Lord Michael was quiet as he stared broodingly over the small town, his thoughts flashing back to the horrible night that resulted in his beloved wife's death. Her death had shattered his heart into a million pieces, leaving a dull aching void that seemed to grow heavier as each day passed. It seemed like only yesterday when he first looked into her eyes and saw the woman he wished to spend the rest of his life with.
Alaya had been a beautiful young lady that he had met the year before his father, Lord Geran Steelheart, passed away after being thrown from his horse. She had long dark hair and large chestnut eyes, and was extremely intelligent. Her hourglass figure, and quick, agile mind had mesmerized him, and they began to spend all their free time together, becoming almost inseparable. They fell deeply in love, and were married soon after.
Once Lord Geran passed, the responsibilities of the castle fell to Lord Michael. Sevria was a trade town, relying mainly on merchants traveling through the mountains on the trade road from the port city of Sierra for its main source of income. Merchant caravans traveling from all over the world passed through Sevria on their way to larger and more prosperous kingdoms. Their small village was a necessary haven for those who made their way through the dangerous and unpredictable mountain range. Many dangerous creatures lived throughout the Godstear Mountains and preyed upon the unsuspecting, and Sevria was a welcome safe place along that treacherous trade route.
Alaya had immediately made herself indispensable, taking on most of the daily chores and responsibilities of running the castle, allowing Lord Michael to focus on more civil matters, and to the protection of the town. He would often lead the patrols that guarded the trade road and village from any ogres, goblins, or dragonspawn that seemed to plague the mountains in abundance. They would also occasionally travel together to Sierra on diplomatic trips to meet with visiting monarchs and powerful merchants to discuss different trade agreements that would benefit their small village. Since Sevria was the only safe haven for the merchant’s caravans to rest, he and Alaya were occasionally required to travel in order to negotiate with prospective merchants.
It was on one of these visits that their lives were turned upside down. Lord Michael and Lady Alaya, in the company of a half a dozen soldiers from the castle, were traveling back from Sierra when Lord Michael's horse slipped on a stone, breaking its leg. The poor beast had to be put out of its misery, and they were forced to make camp in a large clearing about ten leagues from the village.
Lord Michael and Lady Alaya, who was two months pregnant at the time, were sleeping near the fire while the soldiers took turns on sentry duty. Without warning, they were suddenly attacked by a crazed band of vicious dragonspawn.
Dragonspawn were repulsive creatures, rumored to be the result of an evil wizard's experiment gone horribly awry. They stood nearly seven feet tall, with strong wiry bodies and long whip-like tails. They were covered with thick reddish-brown scales, and their horned reptile heads gave them a distinct dragon-like appearance.
The creatures quickly overwhelmed and killed the two sentries on duty, using their razor-sharp talons as lethal weapons. The rest of the soldiers were slaughtered where they slept, having no chance to defend themselves.
Lord Michael had reacted with the instincts of a professional soldier at the first sounds of trouble, rolling to his feet and grabbing his sword. He cut two of the creatures down before being knocked unconscious by a glancing blow to the head. He awoke hours later to a disaster. All the soldiers from the castle had been slaughtered, and all the horses lay dead, their throats having been slit, and bellies ripped open. All their belongings and supplies had been scattered around the clearing, and all their valuables had been taken by the dragonspawn. Nothing had been left untouched in the vicious attack.
A soft whimpering sound drew his attention to Alaya's crumpled form near the remains of the campfire. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain from his head wound, and stumbled over to his wife's side. She had been stripped of her clothing, violated, and beaten so severely her eyes had swollen shut. Dozens of claw marks covered her body and were bleeding freely, but remarkably, she was still alive.
When he knelt at her side and reached to take her into his arms, she recoiled from his touch kicking and screaming in terror, unable to recognize her own husband's voice through her terror.
He quickly jumped to his feet and searched the area until he located a tall spiky-leafed Quitha plant, and tore it from the ground by the roots. The Quitha plant was a common herb that grew throughout the mountain range which possessed amazing medicinal qualities. It had been used by healers for hundreds of years to help the sick and injured.
He stripped the plant of all its leaves and mashed them into a pulp, producing a thick syrupy juice that was very sweet to smell. When one drank the sweet-smelling juice, a feeling of euphoria would lay a blanket over their senses, calming even the most disturbed of individuals.
He struggled to hold Alaya down while he carefully pried open her mouth, then he squeezed a bit of the Quitha juice onto her tongue to calm her. It took immediate effect, and she soon drifted into a peaceful sleep.
He quickly bandaged her wounds as best he could, and covered her with a blanket that he managed to salvage, then he carefully hoisted her limp form onto his shoulders and set off on foot. After several miles, he came upon a patrol from the castle, and with their aid, they rushed her back to the castle's clerics so they could tend to her wounds. Though her injuries were grave, Alaya recovered, and miraculously, their unborn child seemed unharmed by the vicious attack.
Lord Michael dispatched every available soldier to comb the valley and destroy or chase off every unsavory creature in the area. He doubled the patrols that guarded the trade road, and put a bounty out on every dragonspawn that continued to lurk near the village.
Everything seemed to return to normal, and they slowly began to forget about the horrible incident, until late one summer night, five months after the attack, Lord Michael returned from leading a patrol to find his beloved wife dying after giving birth to their child two months premature. Though she had been in the care of the best clerics in the lands, she had lost too much blood, and there was little that they could do but make her comfortable during the last moments of her life.
He rushed to her bedside, where he found her still conscious, though her face was deathly pale.
Alaya stared gently at her grieving husband, the life quickly draining from her eyes. “My love,” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Do not grieve for me. The gods have blessed us with a son.” She gestured weakly to the small bundle at her breast. “He is very special. His birth is an omen sent to us by the gods!” She paused, her breath growing shallower, but she forced herself to continue despite her husband's objections for her to rest. “You must take care of our son. He is not like us. He has been blessed by the gods themselves. Swear to me you will keep him safe and love him. You must promise to teach him well. He will change the world!”
Lord Michael's heart nearly broke, but he swallowed his grief, and gently took her hand in his. “I swear, my darling.” He said simply. He couldn't bring himself to speak anymore, fearing he would break down sobbing uncontrollably.
She smiled weakly, then relinquished her
newborn son, slowly closed her eyes, and released her last breath.
Numb with shock and grief, he tenderly kissed his wife's forehead, then gently pulled the sheets up to cover her lifeless form.
He turned away and took a deep breath, forcing himself to put his grief aside, then he gently unwrapped the tiny bundle, taking his first look upon the face of his newborn son. He was husky for a child born two months premature, with a full head of shiny black hair, just like his father's, and large chestnut-colored eyes that were identical to his mother's. He was perfect in every way, except one. Above each eye, reaching from the bridge of his nose, traveling across his brows to each temple, was a thick ridge of what appeared to be large, reddish brown scales. Dragon scales.
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