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    NeoExodus Legendary Tales: The Fastest Blade
    NeoExodus Legendary Tales: The Fastest Blade
    NeoExodus Legendary Tales: The Fastest Blade
    Ebook62 pages58 minutes

    NeoExodus Legendary Tales: The Fastest Blade

    By Erik Scott De Bie

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    About this ebook

    Orsia Wentworth is a swashbuckler–fearless, feckless, and addicted to the fight. When she jumps at the chance to compete in a tournament to face the finest warrior of a generation, she finds herself in over her head. NeoExodus Legendary Tales: The Fastest Blade was written by Erik Scott de Bie and edited by Joshua Yearsley.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLouis Porter Jr Design
    Release dateMar 11, 2017
    ISBN9781370359196
    NeoExodus Legendary Tales: The Fastest Blade

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      Book preview

      NeoExodus Legendary Tales - Erik Scott De Bie

      NeoExodus_-_The_Fastest_Blade.jpg

      part One

      The day started out much as any other for Orsia Wentworth. She woke from a night of heavy drinking, her head swimming but her purse only a bit lighter for the experience, draped in the arms and discarded clothes of strangers. Personally, Orsia found herself in the arms of a very lovely, pale-faced, red-headed woman who might be Armani. She didn’t remember a thing about this woman but rather enjoyed how warm she felt.

      Vaguely, Orsia recalled coming into the bar, pulling along her friend and confidante Dell, but from there it became even fuzzier. One man at the bar had questioned her right to carry such a fancy sword, and she distinctly remembered handing him his boots after she knocked him flat out of them. The night only went better from there. As time passed, her natural charm came into play and her fellow carousers tended to buy the drinks.

      Orsia remembered harrowing tales of her exploits, some of which were even true. At one point, she’d climbed up on a card table to demonstrate a few of her flashier moves, though she didn’t remember precisely when that had turned into general dancing. And in the end, even a typical night with Orsia in the bar reached a level of debauchery and merry-making to rival yearly festivals.

      The chaotic atmosphere appealed to her rebellious nature. For one, it scandalized her prim and proper parents, who approved of her drinking and dancing even less than her swordplay. It hardly mattered: Lord and Lady Wentworth generally treated their second daughter with disappointed neglect when they noticed her at all. There was a reason she didn’t use the Wentworth name when she went out at night, and she’d seen her family only a few times over the last year.

      But even above that admittedly delicious subversion, mingling among the commoner folk was itself a challenge to the Empire’s rigid social structure, and Orsia liked that. The idea that hard workers with dirt on their elbows could share cups with merchants or even nobles (albeit keeping their higher station a secret) made Orsia tingle all over. In her eyes, people were people, equally worthy of respect.

      Eventually, after the drinking and romancing of the evening was done, everyone slept deep to await the morning and its dull return to reality and responsibility. Work would have to be done, food put on the table, and families cared for. Unless this day brought something different.

      Which is exactly what came to pass that morning.

      Orsia stirred when the door burst open, and a crimson-skinned prymidian in colorful garb strode through, stroking his braided silver beard. His flamboyant attire and bold body language marked him clearly for a bard, even though he had no musical instrument that she could see. With a superior eye, he surveyed the room full of groggy patrons. Their general state of haphazard disarray seemed to worry him not one whit. If anything, their lack of attention seemed to be what irked him.

      Hear me, all! he proclaimed, so loudly that the words drew every bleary eye in the room. He did not shout, but his rumbling voice filled the chamber like magic. I am Chenoa Gryn, speaker of truths and legends. My employer—the Great Khavren, He of the Lightning Blade—has declared a tournament of single combat to begin at highsun today, the reward for which shall be the honor of crossing his steel.

      Uh? The sound came from a big p’tan squatting in the corner like a lion. Some honor to duel a single human.

      I wasn’t finished. Gryn frowned in annoyance. The one who can defeat my employer in single combat shall be rewarded with a sack of gold equal to his or her own weight. As the crowd started to murmur in wonder at the generous prize, the prymidian stretched his shoulders as though doffing a burden. These are the terms, and this my duty done. Fortune favor you all.

      He turned and was gone.

      Orsia sat there blinking for a second. Her mind worked slowly through the murk of too much alcohol, processing the bard’s words. A smile spread across her face. Dellthora, she said. Dell?

      Leaving her companion of the evening with some reluctance, Orsia staggered out of the booth in search of her friend. True to form, Dellthora Norfolk was already up, scrabbling on a parchment at the bar, and looking none the worse for wear after the events of the previous night. Odds were, she’d contented herself with just a single glass of watered wine, the better to watch out for her less responsible friend Orsia.

      Did you hear? Orsia asked, hardly able to contain herself. Khavren? My weight in gold?

      Dell nodded without looking up. We have work to do.

      #

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