Free Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles by David L. Craddock Page A

Annalyn kneeling to him on his birthday, extending the sword while half of Crotaria leaned in so close he had almost felt their breath on his neck. A voice had whispered in his ear. He had thought it was his mother, but it had sounded older. Firm, but still older.
    Heritage spoke in that same voice in my dream , he thought . Was that it? Had the sword spoken to him on the day it had set him up for failure? He raised a hand to the “H” on the door, but let it drop. What am I going to do? Interrogate a sword?
    Aidan stifled a yawn with his fist. It didn’t matter. He would tell his parents about his theory. Maybe it would help them figure out why Heritage had rejected him. Everything would work out.
    —Destiny still waits to call your name, Aidan Gairden.
    He snapped his jaw shut. There it was again—old but firm.
    Grandmotherly. Aidan ran his finger over the Heritage inscription and shoved through the sliding stone doors. There was the sword, blade twirling, Eye flickering without a care.
    “You mentioned my destiny the night of my ceremony, and yet this destiny you speak of obviously has little to do with you,” he said, standing before Heritage with clenched fists. “So what is it, then? Share my fate with me if you know so much about it.”
    Heritage spun lazily, remaining silent. Then it went still. The Eye flashed, a red wink.
    —Leave this place , the voice said. Wait around the corner.
    “Why should I—”
    —Go. Quickly.
    Aidan bit back a retort and hurried out into the hall. He slipped into his bedroom and left the door ajar, peering out. Several moments passed. His mother appeared and halted before the chamber. He watched her trace the inscription. The doors opened, she stepped through, the doors closed. Almost immediately she emerged, Heritage in hand, and vanished the way she had come.
    Aidan rose slowly from his hiding spot. Was that all it wanted me to see? he thought. My mother is the sword-bearer. She comes and goes from the sword chamber at all hours of the day. What significance could that possibly—
    —Great significance. The signs of deception are obvious, yet you allow self-pity to blind you.
    Aidan’s eyes had slowly widened during the sword’s response. Had the sword read his mind? He swallowed; then, hesitantly: What do you mean? he thought, projecting his words at the sword.
    —Have you asked yourself why your mother would leave me behind when I’ve always been at her side? it responded.
    Aidan almost yelped with surprise. The sword had heard his thought as clearly as if he had shouted, and had responded! Then he focused on its question. “Of course she took...”
    But she hadn’t. Heritage had been in the chamber, and he did not recall seeing the sword at his mother’s side upon her return. Had she returned it to the chamber between returning to the palace and meeting with the Hands? Probably not, he decided. Not much time had passed between their confrontation in the courtyard and their meeting at the throne.
    He shook his head. It was a short retreat. Why would she have taken you? She wasn’t going into battle.
    —A retreat intended to help her son plan his future. A future you seem content to have others decide for you.
    What’s your point?
    —My point, Aidan Gairden, is this. Through Heritage, a sword-bearer can communicate with generations of Gairdens. Suppose one of them holds the information necessary to deciphering the mystery behind your rejection. Why would your mother leave such a valuable tool behind?
    Aidan ran his hand through his hair. “I’m too tired to continue this discussion. If you won’t just tell me—”
    —Soon, Aidan Gairden. All too soon.
     

Chapter 8
    Voices

     
     
     
     
     
    A IDAN RAPPED THE BRONZE KNOCKER against the door. Several moments later, the door swung inward. His master stood in the doorway, hair and robes disheveled, bushy eyebrows raised in surprise.
    “Aidan? I’m surprised to see you here so late.”
    “I figured I’d