Sword of The Golden Girl

Sword of the Golden Girl

By M. L. Daniel

Copyright 2014  M. L. Daniel

Smashwords Edition

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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my children for their inspiration and encouragement. They teach me daily that surprise and wonder are not only possible, but also all around us all the time.

Much love and gratitude to my dearest friend Alison and my new friend Maggie for listening to me carry on and keeping my boat from listing. Without their help I might have drowned more than once.

Table of Contents:

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Red

Chapter 2 – Home

Chapter 3 – Fire

Chapter 4 – Quest

Chapter 5 – Alone

Chapter 6 – Seer

Chapter 7 – Lessons

Chapter 8 – Dragons

Chapter 9 – Dwarves

Chapter 10 – Pictures

Chapter 11 – Star

Chapter 12 – Training

Chapter 13 – Followers

Chapter 14 – Anger

Chapter 15 – Camp

Chapter 16 – Chains

Chapter 17 – Onward

Chapter 18 – Litenelva

Chapter 19 – Affliction

Chapter 20 – Aidia

Chapter 21 – Ransom

Chapter 22 – Golden

About M. L. Daniel

Prologue

From the balcony surrounding the highest room in his palace, King Graenir stared into the distance and considered the words he just read. The 25th Scroll of Life was spread across his cluttered writing desk, held open to the offending passage by two jeweled quill holders.

Coming of The Curse Breaker

From amongst the world of men

A golden girl will rise

Healing balm to heart and land

Pernicious reign’s demise

Righting wrongs of conjuring

Of magic borne of malice

Claiming first the only son

Then master of the palace

Armed with purity of heart

And dwarven blood ablaze

No skill for dark anathema

Will stand against her gaze

The words he had committed to memory so many years ago rolled over and over in his mind. When he read them for the first time, his father was still king. He was Prince of the Realm, his father’s only son. As many princes before him, he was convinced he was the claimed son mentioned in the prophecy. He further believed his bride of ten years would turn out to be the foretold golden girl.

Gaildra, his love, was the beautiful golden haired daughter of Daegan, Mayor of the human town of Upton. She was loved and admired by all who saw her. She was once loved and now possessed by him.

Above all things, he coveted his father’s crown and spent untold hours delving into ancient scrolls and parchments, searching for a spell that would make him king. At last he found it, a poison potion calling for many rare ingredients, including the most difficult to obtain, the blood of a stone dwarf. Most insidious of all, the deadly brew required being delivered by the unknowing hand of a fair-haired female.

Though it took some six years, Graenir assembled the makings and mixed the lethal concoction. On the afternoon of the Spring Day celebration he poured the mixture into a golden chalice and sent flaxen haired Gaildra, who was heavy with their fifth child, to convey it into the hands of his father, the King.

He stood among the throng of loyal subjects as his father took the chalice and made his annual Spring Day toast for the health and prosperity of his kingdom and his people. Following the toast, his father took a hearty drink and held the chalice aloft as his people cheered and offered praises to their king.

And then something happened Graenir neither expected nor planned for. The King passed the chalice back into the hand of Gaildra, his voice booming a fateful invitation, Drink with me, fair Gaildra. Drink to the people who will be your subjects, when you rule at the side of my only son.

A ferocious jealousy swiftly flared in Graenir’s heart. She will rule nothing, he thought. He watched in silence as with an innocent and loving smile his wife accepted the chalice from the King and brought it to her own lips, taking in the remaining sip.

Having done nothing to prevent it, Graenir could only watch the inevitable unfold. If there was a curing elixir, he didn’t know it. He’d never even looked for it. It was never a part of his plan to offer a cure to the only person intended to receive the drink.

The sun was beginning to fade when the King collapsed in the midst of a dance. His face appeared pained as his hand clutched at his throat. Gaildra ran to his side. The King extended his hand to her but his arm fell before his touch could reach her. Good King Garash was no more.

Gaildra screamed and dropped to her knees beside the dead King. Your Majesty, no! she cried. Who is worthy to rule in your stead? She grasped his hand and held it tightly to her cheek.

Looking up, Gaildra saw the resentful face of her husband glaring back at her. His eyes were cold and unforgiving. She had just made it clear to everyone assembled she had no confidence in his ability to rule.

Graenir could feel any love and admiration he ever felt for her drain from his heart in an instant. He had no regrets over her drinking after his father. His only concern now was if there had been enough poison in those last drops to take care of her as well.

He didn’t need to wait long to find out. Without speaking a single word to him, Gaildra fainted dead away, still holding the King’s hand in hers. A physician pushed his way through the crowd and knelt next to Gaildra. Turning to the new Fairy King, the physician said with great urgency, Your Highness, the princess has passed, but the child yet lives. May I have your permission to bring it forth?

I am your King now. You will address me as Your Majesty, the new King stated coldly.

The physician bowed his head. I beg Your Majesty would forgive my discourtesy. Then looking back up at the King, he added, The babe, Your Majesty. Is it to be saved?

Without thinking the new King agreed to allow the physician to deliver the still living child from its mother’s belly. He regretted his decision immediately, but the physician performed his urgent task with agility and skill. It was too late for Graenir to change his mind.

On that evening of the Spring Day celebration, twenty-three springs ago, a son was born to King Graenir, an only son. The only son.

Before a crown was even fitted to his head, something became crystal clear to the new Fairy King. It was he and not his father who was the master of the palace foretold in the golden girl prophecy. It would be his son who would be claimed first by the Curse Breaker. In that moment of realization, his life took on a singular purpose. He had to find a way to keep the prophesy from coming to pass, but no more poisonings, at least not yet.

For the time being, the newborn prince was left in the company and care of his sisters and their nurses.

When the motherless Prince passed his tenth spring, King Graenir decided on his terrible course. The King took the boy to The Dragon Cliffs, the formidable cliffs lining the eastern border of the palace grounds. The face of the cliffs was spattered with caves, wherein lived the many dragons who made up the King’s guardians.

The Fairy King spread his arms and lifted his face to the sky. He began chanting in a language foreign to the Prince’s ears. The Prince began to feel ill. He buckled over in pain and his body felt as if it were being ripped apart. The transformation took only minutes, yet it seemed forever and when it was over, the prince was gone. In his place stood a bright red and violet dragon.

The King looked into his son’s confused and frightened eyes. I relegate you to The Dragon Cliffs. A dragon I have made you and a dragon you shall remain until the golden girl does willingly offer her human life to me in exchange for yours.

There. Now his son Jurelse had the incentive he needed to seek out the golden girl, thinking he was simply searching for a way to secure his own freedom. And when he finds her, the King thought, he will bring her to the palace to be sacrificed.

In the mean time, the King would continue to study until he discovered how to kill her when she finally arrived.

Chapter 1  -  Red

Sara was perched upon a large rock on the bank of the Ralvareen River watching a sunfish tease the surface of the water in search of its morning meal. Her long dark hair fell in a tangle of soft waves nearly reaching her waist as she splashed her toes in the water and smiled to herself. She had reached the age of seventeen springs and still this was her favorite place in all her world; here beside the bridge which connected the sleepy village of Seaside with the road to the bustling and beautiful village of Upton.

Karl had taken her to Upton twice. Once when he was making a delivery to the stables of one of the village elders and again when he was summoned to the stables of a grand house. The family who lived there had ordered a special saddle to be made for their daughter. Every inch of it was to be intricately engraved with finely detailed flowers and grasses. When the family saw the craftsmanship they decided to have the girl’s name carved into what was at first merely a pathway in the design.

That was why he took Sara. It was she who decorated all the leather goods sold through Karl’s livery stable. No one was better with an awl and punch than she was. Karl’s business had boomed when they realized Sara’s skill and she was thrilled to be able to contribute. It made her feel she was returning the kindness Karl showed her ever since finding her on the sandy shore of The Great Sea ten springs ago.

But no dwelling on the past this morning, today was the annual Spring Day celebration. The people of the village had been busy decorating for the last three days. There were flowers and garlands and ribbons and banners strung from everything capable of holding anything.

There would be parties to commemorate people’s ages and how long their families had been in business. There would be picnics and feasts in the afternoon, and then in the evening there would be music and dancing. Sara looked forward to the dancing most of all. She never danced herself, she was much too shy, but oh how she loved to sit in the shadows and watch all the girls of the village dressed in their prettiest dresses as they swirled and swayed in time to the music.

She looked forward to later, but right now she sat beside the bridge hoping to see some of the elegant carriages from Upton as they crossed the bridge to Seaside to shop for last minute gifts or frills. Presently she did hear someone crossing, but it was not a carriage. In fact it was no one she’d expected at all.

- step – clop – drag – step – clop – drag –

What a curious sound, Sara thought as she craned her neck to see who, or what, was on the bridge.

- step – clop – drag – step – clop – drag –

Lifting her feet from the water, she stood to face the bridge. Her new vantage point served a dual purpose.  From a standing position she could either offer a proper greeting, or be better able to run if the strange sound was being caused by a threat of some sort.

It was a person of very small stature, or at least someone who appeared to be very small; it was hard to tell since they were covered head to foot with a hooded cloak. Beneath the cloak, the person was using a walking stick. They were quite hunched over and dragging one foot as they hobbled along. As Sara stared, the person reached the midway point of the bridge and stopped.

You are gawking, came what sounded to be the trembling and cranky voice of a very old female.

A thousand apologies, lady, Sara said, bowing her head and taking a step further away from the river’s edge. I wasn’t expecting you.

The woman lifted her head slightly and Sara caught a brief glimpse of one eye peering in her direction from the slit of an opening at the front of the woman’s hood. And dare I inquire, whom were you expecting?

There was a cunning edge to the anticipation in the woman’s voice. Her words seemed to be issuing a challenge as much as asking a simple question as she continued her walk across the bridge.

No one special, Sara answered.  I thought I might see some of the people from Upton this morning, that’s all.

A hearty chuckle wafted out from under the cloak. And you do not believe me to be a citizen of Upton because you do not perceive me to be beautiful.

The woman had clopped and dragged her way to the near side of the bridge and was almost fully across. Sara began to look around, wondering if the woman would continue on the road into Seaside or if she would come off the road and toward the forest, toward her.

No. I, uh – I didn’t mean, Sara stammered as the woman came closer still and took a step onto the grass.

Before Sara could piece together her apology, the woman moved her walking stick and apparently it caught in something at the edge of the bridge. There was a loud snap and suddenly the woman was tumbling head over heels toward the river.

Sara bolted, wide-eyed and squealing. She grabbed for the woman, but only managed to catch her by her cape. She scrambled to help get the old woman properly upright and tidied. What a terrible time for your walking stick to break, Sara said as she dusted the last of the visible dirt from the woman’s plain grey cloak. Are you very far from home?

In my experience, things tend to happen at precisely the proper time. The woman looked up at Sara. Or at least Sara assumed she was looking up. Her hood moved upward and in the general direction of Sara’s face. And my distance from home is of little matter. My circumstances would be the same regardless. You are a pretty girl. Why are you not primping and preparing for the day’s festivities in town?

Sara felt her face grow warm as she flushed at the woman’s praise. You’re very kind, she whispered, staring down and realizing she was still barefoot. She glanced over to the rock where she’d been sitting and saw her sandals right where she’d left them.

I am neither kind, nor unkind. I simply speak as I see. Here, take my hand and walk with me toward the forest. We will not walk far. The woman held up a frail hand with wispy fingers.

Sara took her hand and was surprised by the strength of her grasp. As they approached the first few scattered trees of the forest, the temperature noticeably cooled and a shallow breeze began to move the air around them.

The woman squeezed Sara’s hand and for a moment fixed her gaze on an oak tree a short distance ahead of them. She stopped and said to the sky, Yes, it is precisely the proper time. Then turning back to Sara, You’re gawking again, she said with no expression at all. And before Sara could respond, a bolt of lightning crashed through the clear spring sky and into the oak tree. A violent shudder shook the ground beneath them as the tree was cleaved in half.

Sara screamed and pulled the old woman down to the grass with her, covering the woman with her own body.

Immediately the woman sprang up and away. I have spent quite enough time on the ground for one morning, thank you very much.

I’m sorry, I thought –, Sara started as she got to her feet.

No matter. The old woman’s tone softened and she reached out to pat Sara’s hand before turning and heading toward the splintered tree. You are protective and brave. Not very talkative though, you might want to work on that. If you gawk without speaking, people will think you rude.

What are you talking about? Sara asked.

The woman was now looking down at the ground as she walked around the tree. Here we are! This is perfect. She came back into view from the far side of the tree and in her hand was a perfectly shaped walking stick. I believe this tree has something to offer you as well, Sara from the sea. The woman gestured toward the tree with her new stick, then turned and began walking into the forest.

Wait! Sara yelled, running to the oak tree. How did you know my name?

The woman kept walking. Sara looked at the great crack through the center of the tree and saw something dark and red catching the sun’s light and throwing it back in blinding rays.

When Sara looked up again, the woman was not to be seen, she had vanished into the nearby Forest of Dreams.

When Sara looked back at the shining red, she saw it was a large red stone, as big as the palm of her hand, set in the badly tarnished hilt of what looked to be a sword, embedded deep in the heart of the tree.

She got as close as she could to the tree trunk, stepping carefully to avoid getting splinters in her bare feet. She reached through the splayed slivers of wood and as she touched the end of the hilt, it was as though she felt a vibrating sensation run from her fingertip up through her arm. She jerked her arm back and reeled a bit on her feet before regaining her balance.

She took a deep breath and tried again. She didn’t touch it until her hand was in position to grab the hilt all at once. And when she did, it fit her grip perfectly, as if it had been made especially for her.

The vibrating was there again, like a surge of strength rippling through her entire body. She stilled, allowing herself to adjust to the feeling before moving again. Then she lifted straight up and the sword followed her hand with ease. It was almost completely blackened with age, but the large red stone in the center of the hilt was brilliantly clear and undamaged.

Sara gathered up her skirt so she could watch her feet as she warily stepped back through splinters large and small until she was free of them and walking on clean grass. She returned to the river’s edge and retrieved her sandals for the walk home.

She was halfway between the bridge and the hat maker’s shop at the edge of town when something cast a shadow over the sun. Most likely a cloud, she thought absently. She’d not actually seen any clouds, but there had been a lightning strike, so surely there were clouds nearby and very likely rain would follow.

Normally the thought of rain on Spring Day would have been cause for much sorrow, but Sara was far too fascinated by her newfound sword to be concerned about anything so dull by comparison as Spring Day picnics or dancing. Her focus was so diverted it completely escaped her notice when the huge red dragon swooped down from the sky and landed right in front of her on the road.

What a lovely thing, the dragon said, his deep voice rumbling from his throat much as if he were singing the words.

Oh, thank you! Sara enthused. It is beautiful isn’t --, when she looked up, both she and her words froze in place.

The dragon was terrifying, graceful and a very handsome creature all at once. His multiple shades of crimson and violet faded into one another so it was difficult to determine where one left off and another began. His enormous eyes were a dazzling blue and appeared to be anxiously awaiting her reaction. She’d heard it said that dragons often made a game of toying with their prey before snatching them.

His lips seemed to curl into a wicked grin when he realized he finally had her full attention. I was speaking of you, my dear, and yes, you are.

Are? she managed, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound brave.

Lovely, he answered, moving two steps closer.

Sara held her ground, tightening her grip on the tarnished sword.

And courageous, the dragon added, the curl of his lips becoming more pronounced.

Where could I run that you would not catch me? There is no cover I could reach.

And clever too. What a pity it will be to turn you over to the King to be nothing more than a servant in his palace.

You will not take me to King Graenir, she said, firmly planting her feet. By not running I conserve my strength. She brandished the sword and held it straight out in front of her with both hands. I shall not surrender without a fight.

The dragon looked back and forth between Sara and the sword several times, then without any warning at all he began to laugh. Peal after peal of roaring laughter rang out from him. Occasionally he would stop, only to begin again within seconds.

It’s rude to laugh at someone! Sara shouted with as much dignity as she could summon when she could stand his laughter no longer.

Would you prefer I eat you?

Of course not, she replied as calmly as she could, while examining his eyes trying to determine if he was serious.

Perhaps you’d rather I breath in your direction and burn you to a cinder?

No again.

"Shall I stand perfectly still and wait for you to slay me?

That would be most obliging of you, Sara answered, unable to prevent the escape of an accompanying giggle. Yes, I think that choice is the best of all you have offered.

Hmm. I thought you might like that one, but I’m afraid it’s out of the question. I am Jurelse. What are you called? He lowered his head so his eyes were level with her face as he waited for her response.

My name is Sara.

Jurelse had clearly not expected her answer. He took a step back and looked her up and down. Cocking his head to the side and giving her a most scrutinizing stare he asked, Sara? Sara the liveryman’s daughter?

"Why do strangers know my name? And Karl is as a father should be to me,