Free The Blade Heir (Book 1) by Daniel Adorno Page A

roaring fire. Flames danced just below Nergoth's chin, casting an eerie shadow on the idol's face. A foul smell of burnt blood filled the chamber. Memnon sniffed the pagan incense with delight.
    "Let the blood of your subjects burn as it has on this altar, Dermont, for invading my lands and opposing Nergoth's power," he uttered to himself. Joppa's end was nigh, and soon the ashes of the Black Dragon would be rekindled to a great blue flame. Soon his bloodlust would be satiated, and darkness would sweep the land beneath Nergoth's black wings.

Crickets chirped all around the outskirts of Ithileo forest and created a soothing melody that tempted Silas to fall into a deep, peaceful slumber, but he forced himself to stay awake. The success of their mission was at stake. For days they had been encamped in the wilderness, waiting for a Draknoir raid. He had seen the Draknoir scouts in the hills and knew an attack was imminent. The other Slayers had seen them too. Asher was the first to spot a speck of movement on the bluffs just below the Onyx Mountains and anxiously reported it to him. Perhaps they were mobilizing an attack from Nasgothar, which could take days or even weeks. Nonetheless, something was amiss. The Draknoir were bloodthirsty fiends who did not hesitate in hurling a siege on their enemies. Could they have seen the king's army in the forest? It was too great a distance from the bluffs to Ithileo for a scout to catch sight of the army, especially hidden as they were. Maybe he was thinking about it too much, but it continued to add to his uneasiness.
    The night air was arid, and a slight chill in the breeze caused him to shiver. He unfolded the blanket in front of him and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. He pulled out a gold ring attached to a silver necklace beneath his armor and turned it many times between his fingers. It was a comforting habit he often succumbed to when worry gnawed at him. The ring belonged to his mother, but he forced himself not to think of her. She would be unhappy to know her son lacked courage. Silas knew he had to be brave.
    The loud snoring and shuffling bodies around the camp interrupted his thoughts, and he quickly tucked the ring back inside his chainmail shirt. Moonlight shone on the camp like a bright torch revealing their positions. They were naked out here in the wilderness.  Silas stood up and threw another log in the fire. He peered into the dark gloom of the forest. Somewhere inside the Aldronian, warriors watched the Drachengarde in seclusion. Their protection did not comfort him. He looked eastward, toward the black bluffs at the foot of the Onyx Mountains. There was not the slightest movement, save the swaying branches of the fir trees at the edge of the camp.
    Silas, you worrisome fool.
    He sighed and lay down beside the fire. The slow crackling of the flames put his mind at ease while he stared at the stars above. Their glimmering light caused his eyelids to droop. An owl hooted from within the forest, and he quickly sat up, gripping the hilt of his sword. He cursed under his breath and lay down again. Something else stirred in the forest, but he ignored it and set his mind on his sleep. Eventually, darkness overtook him, and he drifted into disturbing dreams of swords clashing upon shields.

A loud horn blast sounded in the camp, and Silas awoke from his slumber. The men all around him stood up and unsheathed their swords. He looked toward the edge of the forest and saw them. Ranks of Draknoir poured out from within the dark forest. They carried serrated blades and wooden shields with the insignia of Nasgothar—a black face with jagged teeth and crimson eyes—seared on the surface. Their blades were wet with blood, and their yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.
    Silas rose to his feet and picked up his broadsword from the ground. It was longer than most swords and made from efydd, ideal for cutting through the thick scales of dragons. He unsheathed the sword from its