Swordplay

SWORDPLAY

Book One in the Alidomn Series

By Margaret Elizabeth O'Neil

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Published by

Margaret Elizabeth O'Neil

on Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

The contents of this book is fictional. Names, incidents, and characters are all fictional and any resemblance to actual persons or incidents, living or dead, is pure coincidence.

Copyright 2012 by Margaret Elizabeth O'Neil.

This book is dedicated to

Daniel – Your faith in me never wavered. Thank you.

Mom – Thanks for always cleaning up my messes. Whether in editing or other.

Alyse – You have unintentional powers to inspire.

Aidan – Bazinga!

and

Bradford James O'Neil – I hope this makes up for Neil Young.

Chapter One

The heavy mist that hovered over the thick, mossy green ground could not have obstructed Latora's view more. She needed to bridge the gap quickly between herself and the enemy any way she could. She needed to know just how close Loutana's army was to their camp. Her people's lives were at stake.

She kept low to the ground using the trees and low lying brush as cover. She moved with the same intensity that most Normac moved with. Latora could easily outmaneuver any other species. She crawled swiftly through mud, branches, and the somewhat soft, forest floor. She stopped once she reached the clearing. ‘Never go beyond the safety of the forest’, Ulrick had always warned. Too many good soldiers have been lost beyond that point, she thought. Latora contemplated turning around and heading back to camp. That would be the safe choice, the common choice, but not one she could live with. She was the scout for their army. She was no coward, and she would never let them down. She’d never turn back without the information she was searching for, even if it meant defying orders. Lives could be lost if she didn't do her job right.

She continued along the clearing floor, her belly to the ground as she snaked through mud. The clearing gave her little cover, but the mist provided some hope she wouldn’t be spotted. She moved quickly along the ground, listening to every sound the area made. The fog had grown so thick she couldn’t see above her, nor around her. She could only see and feel the muddy, cold soil below her. She slowed her speed to barely a slight crawl, when she heard two voices far off in the distance. They were the voices of two of Loutana’s guards. They had come closer to the camp then she'd realized. Ulrick would not be pleased by the news. She'd hoped they wouldn't have to move the camp yet again, but it appeared to be a real possibility.

She listened carefully to the two's conversation. Unlike humans, Normac had impeccable hearing, much like a dog had. The guards, unaware Latora was near, argued over which one of them was better at hand to hand combat. Latora heard the snorting and breathing of a third guard, who sat nearby, but did not join in their conversation. Latora was amused by the two guards. While one was sure to best the other, neither was any match for her. She could easily take all three men out within seconds, if she truly wanted to. However, now was not the time for rash decisions. Someone would notice them missing and send more guards to investigate. She had to get the information back to Ulrick so that they could decide what needed to be done.

Latora began her retreat backwards towards the safety of the forest, almost with as much speed as she’d arrived. Part of her regretted leaving three enemies alive. If it were up to her, they would have already attacked full force upon the castle. And whether rightfully taken back what was theirs, or died in the process, it would all have been done by now. But it wasn't up to her, nor any other soldier under the command of Ulrick. He was king once, and in her eyes still belonged upon the throne. Every man who followed him felt the same way she did, and would follow him till the ends of time.

Come on, one date. It won't kill you. Doug gave that player's grin that always justified to Claire why she consistently turned him down.

Err, pass. She gave a little laugh that only gave him the slightest hope she might one day change her mind.

He wasn't all that serious about her, but the constant rejection was beginning to make him want her more. Even if just temporarily. Give me one good reason why not? His eyes smoldered a deep chestnut brown.

Claire gazed into them, and for just a slight moment felt that weakness she surely didn't want to feel. She reminded herself why she would never date him, as she broke her gaze from him.

Because I've seen the way you treat women. She unintentionally swung her pick axe, giving their conversation that much more of a feminist feel.

That's all in the past. Besides I don't think I treat the ladies poorly, he replied smugly, staring up at the dirt ceiling.

You're a love them and leave them kind of guy. I get it. I won't judge. But I certainly don't want to date you. She gave a wry smile. You've got player written all over you.

Player? That's harsh. I like to think of myself as a giver.

Yeah, you give yourself to every woman who comes along.

Well, I can't help it when there's so many beautiful, lonely ladies out there and just one of me. I mean would that be at all fair, to keep all of this locked up to just one lady? He gestured over his body.

Well, when you put it like that, I guess you really are doing God's work. She smiled sarcastically.

He smiled as he raised his right arm and flexed a not so impressive muscle. Hey, Claire. Gun show's in town.

She burst into laughter. I'm sure it is.

His smirk revealed that he wasn't at all that crushed she'd said no yet again. Naturally he'd keep trying, and she'd keep turning him down. It was simply the way their working relationship thrived. A little false flirting while covered in dirt, drenched in sweat, and smelling like the underside of a wart hog. They loved their jobs, digging in dirt for long lost treasures, in the pits of forgotten castles, monasteries, tombs, and cities. Being close friends while searching out mysteries of history made their jobs much more livable and a little less lonely.

Latora's eyes adjusted to the fading mist as she maneuvered quickly through the forest. The morning sunlight sparkled through the trees as she went deeper into the woods. She could hear Martin’s bagpipes as she came closer to the camp. He often played them in the early morning as sort of a make shift alarm clock. She hated the high pitch squealing of the damn thing. Normac’s hearing were much more sensitive than most, and the sound his music made gave her a headache that lasted for hours.

She slowed her pace as she neared the camp. She could see Martin now and she glared at him as she watched him play. He always played them with such honor, as if playing them for an audience in another world. Perhaps the world he came from. His green eyes would glaze over as he looked off past everyone and everything in their camp.

She hopped atop a giant boulder near him, then jumped to the one beside that. She perched upon the rock like a bird and eyed him, carefully flicking her tail back and forth in clear annoyance. His noise and smell bothered her more than any other's. He smelled like beans and potatoes and a bit too much of ale. His presence alone irritated her, and she was never quite sure why.

Will you quiet that racket already! she grunted. Her ears felt on the verge of bleeding.

Martin stopped playing long enough to glance up at her. Well, it’s nice to see you’ve returned in one piece, he said sarcastically in a thick Scottish accent. He went back to playing his bagpipes.

Latora sneered as she crawled much like a cat would to another boulder even closer to him. He felt her cold stare upon him and despite the hostility she oozed, he felt honor at having an audience. Aggressive and hostile, but she was still paying attention.

His bright orange hair blew slightly in the wind and as he played the bagpipes louder, he thought more of home. Soldiers passed by them, groggy with the early morning. They were on their way to breakfast, eager for the slop that would curb their aching bellies.

Latora watched him as he seemed to disappear from their world and fade into another, as he became lost in the memory of his homeland. The Scottish Highlands were lovely and lush. Even in wartime there was, simply put, no place like home. Every time he played the music, it took him back. Latora stared at him amused. Watching Martin relive his past through music made her recall her own.

She remembered a time long ago when peace had ruled their world. Every being lived in harmony. Oh, sure, there had always been small quarrels, no place is perfect, but they never lived in war, at least not for so long. It had all changed when Loutana had taken the throne. He brought with him destruction of the world she’d always known. She longed for the day when she could walk right up to the castle and put an end to Loutana's reign once and for all.

Latora had become so lost in her own memories, she hadn’t realized Martin had stopped playing his bagpipes and was now watching her with as much curiosity as she had just been watching him.

What are you looking at? she sneered down at him.

Just wondering where your head was at a moment ago, lass, he replied as he rested his bagpipes on his round belly.

My head is none of your concern! she snapped, as she hopped off the rock and stormed off towards her tent.

Grumpy in the mornin', he stated under his breath, unaware she could hear even at a great distance, but great arse.

She snorted with disgust.

Claire clicked through the channels too fast to see the mundane, reality television programs that filtered through the two star hotel room's TV. She clicked off the television with a sigh. It had been a long day digging underneath Saint Michael's Mount, a glorious castle erected upon its own island just off the shore of Penzance, England. She was beat and every bit of her ached. She had hoped to veg out in front of the TV for a few hours, but with no captivating programs left on television, she decided it was best to get an early start on bed.

She readied herself for sleep, brushing her teeth, combing her hair, and turning off all the lights. She ached for the semi softness of the room's mattress. No trouble sleeping tonight, she thought. As she snuggled underneath the blankets, her eyes began to close and she felt her heartbeat slow with her breathing. She drifted from the comfort and safety of her hotel room to the harsh, dreamlike surroundings of a nightmare. There she stood in the bowels of a castle, no longer in her flannel pajamas and Grinch slippers. She now wore a long, white, flowing gown that formed to her body perfectly as though it had been made especially for her.

She glanced around her and instantly could see she was in a long hallway that lead to a dungeon. She could make out each empty cell, and the fear within her began to grow. The hallway was lined with lit stakes and she could feel the heat coming off the fire. A noise sounded from behind her, and she turned to peer down the darkest portion of the hallway where the stakes had already burnt out. She could make out the outline of a man, but not much else. She strained her eyes to see, as he took a few steps closer.

Hello? Her voice cracked and she stepped backwards instinctively.

The man gave no response but stepped forward. The glow from one of the nearby stakes lit up his face and Claire gasped at his appearance. His face resembled that of a lion, or rather a man mixed with a lion. His prominent nose was striking to Claire's senses. It was feline in nature, and formed down to a cleft in his upper lip. He had a light layer of dark fur along his cheekbones and down his neck. His hair was longer than Claire’s and pitch black. His eyes were black like coal and Claire felt as he stared at her, his eyes were judging her very soul. Sizing her up, as if preparing to test her. Claire couldn’t keep herself from taking another step back. What was this? Who was this?

He stepped forward again, this time allowing his entire form into the light. Claire studied his slightly human, slightly lion like form. He wore a black leather vest and black pants. His ripped smooth muscular chest was exposed, leaving little to the imagination. It was lightly covered in patches of dark fur. Behind him his long, thin, black tail swayed, eager for the kill. His arms were calmly at his side and in one hand he gripped with his claw like fingers a long, thick, metal chain that nearly touched the stone ground. Their eyes locked and Claire felt it was impossible to look away. His eyes were hauntingly beautiful. Like a beast out of some fairy story.

With lightening quick speed he came towards her down the hallway swinging the heavy metal chain, crisscrossing it across the front of his body but never connecting. He let the metal graze the stone, allowing flashes of sparks to shoot up around him as he moved. The whooshing sound grew louder as he came toward her.

Rapidly she backed away as fast as she could, ducking her head from side to side in an effort to avoid being struck by the chain. She slammed up against the wall behind her with such force she was sure she must have done some damage, to it or her back. He stopped the chain from landing a blow across her face and let it fall instead to its resting place inches above the ground. He moved so close to her face she could feel his hot breath on her cheeks as he snorted. Claire panted as she studied his face. She didn’t dare speak for fear that her mere words would be her last.

This couldn't be happening. Where the hell was she?

Do you know who I am? he asked through clinched teeth, his fangs exposed.

Claire attempted to speak, but all her fear would allow to escape was a single gasp, as she shook her head 'no'.

I’m, he moved closer as he replied with the same ownership any master would show their dogs, Loutana.

Claire awoke with a jolt. She was back in her pj's and back in her bed at the hotel. She gasped from the nightmare as sweat dripped from her face. She breathed a sigh of relief at realizing it was over. So much for peaceful rest, she thought to herself as the memory of the dream flooded her. What had she eaten before bed that would cause such a terror?

Dawn was just breaking and the tide was rolling out. Claire stood on the edge of the beach waiting for her path to be clear. She stared out over the ocean and her eyes couldn’t help but fall on the most beautiful site she’d ever seen. Saint Michael's Mount sat atop boulders and cliffs on a tiny island not far from the shore. The island was connected by a well hidden bridge, a causeway connecting shore to island. While the tide was out the causeway was fully visible and functional, but when the tide came in, it was completely inaccessible. It had been built hundreds of years prior to protect the castle against attack. The enemy would attempt to cross on the causeway, unaware that they had limited time to do so. Unassuming armies would be swept away by the sea when the tide rolled back in.

The bridge became more and more visible with the disappearing tide. Every morning it thrilled Claire to watch it. Almost as if she were seeing the past come into view. She could imagine walking across the causeway hundreds of years ago. What it would feel like to be in a time and place so forgotten?

Just about ready, kid, Harold stated, placing his aged hand on Claire’s shoulder. She turned to face him and his beautifully kind eyes. They were blue, like the feathers on a blue bird's back, and they always sparkled. Claire thought of him as the worldly grandfather she'd always wished she'd had, unlike the drunk cruel one on her father's side and the one she'd never got to meet on her mother's. Harold always spoke softly, but with such passion in everything he said, that it was nearly impossible to not lose yourself within his words.

Tell me more about Saint Michael's Mount, Harold, she begged, like a little girl asking her papa to read just one more story before bed.

Harold looked back at the castle that was so close to their grip. He'd spent most of his adult life studying it. He loved the grounds. He loved the history. Most of all he loved the mystery that surrounded the castle and beneath it. He'd felt a pull from an early age to it, as if the building itself were beckoning to him.

The stories, my dear, that enchant this place are innumerable. Hundreds of years ago, before this place was anything more than a lonely island, some fishermen passing by saw a vision of Saint Michael himself. Or so they believed. Hence the name. That is where it all began. This castle was built shortly after. Since that time there have been legends that have carried on through generation after generation. Everything from giants being sighted climbing the boulders that surround the castle, to pixies dancing in flight with bright lights around them glowing in the night, to miracles. Travelers visiting the sight have claimed that they've been cured of various diseases throughout the years.

Claire listened to his raspy yet soothing voice and felt her love for the land soar. This job was one in a lifetime. She ached to go back down to the depths of the castle where for the last few weeks they'd been digging. Few had ever been allowed in the underbelly of Saint Michael's Mount, and no one outside of her group had ever been allowed to excavate. She couldn't wait to discover its most hidden secrets. She was ready for her life to change, and she knew deep within her, that this place held all the possibilities for that to happen.

Causeway appears ready. What do you say, you ready for some more adventure? Harold smiled at her, knowing all too well the excitement she was feeling. He felt it, too.

Always. Claire grinned with all the nervous flutter and expectation of a child on the first day of school.

Loutana sat upon his gold and marble throne. His eyes burned like hot coals as he watched his men beat the creature he knew was innocent. His fierce lion features gave way to a smirk. Loutana enjoyed watching the pain of others, especially at the hands of his own men. Nothing thrilled him more than watching someone beg for their life as blood and pain spilled out of them.

Please, please! the bruised and bloody gremlin begged. The peaceful farmer only stood about four feet tall, while Loutana's men towered somewhere near seven. They were big, burly, cruel creatures who showed no signs of mercy. The small farmer didn't stand a chance.

Loutana waved his hand, signaling to his men to halt.

You have something to share with us? Loutana's voice was cold like frosted glass and cut through the silent chamber like an ice pick in sand.

The gremlin grabbed the sides of his head with his stubby, chubby hands and shook his head from side to side as if an internal struggle was now taking place. He slumped to the ground still shaking his head and contemplating to himself how much longer he could take the torture before he’d give out.

Loutana’s smile grew. Tell me what I wish to know or you will suffer greatly.

The gremlin peered up from the cold stone ground. How could I suffer more than I already have? His eyes begged for leniency, but Loutana's revealed none.

I’m so glad you asked. His smile was menacing. It quaked anyone who saw it. He waved his hand towards a closed door. A guard who stood near it opened the door, revealing two more guards holding captive a female gremlin and two small gremlin children.

Papa! one of the gremlin children screamed, as one of the guards gripped her tighter.

No! the beaten gremlin protested. Leave them out of this! My family has nothing to do with this!

Oh, but they do, Loutana replied. You understand if you don’t tell me what I wish to know, I will rip your loved ones to shreds in front of you.

I beg you, your majesty, the gremlin sobbed, placing his forehead to the stone ground.

Loutana enjoyed