Page 1 of Blood Fist
PROLOGUE
Millennia ago, when magic lingered in the air and dragons walked freely, humans were born. Their creation was a mystery to the magic residents of the land. Ostracized and weak, humanity faltered. But on their brink, a savior stepped from the mountains: Artrax.
Golden scaled and large enough to block out the sun, he could not allow such fragile creatures to die. He gifted the humans pieces of his magic and taught them how to use it. With Artrax’s magic at their fingertips, humanity thrived.
Brokering peace between the humans and the magic creatures of the land, the humans began to grow. Using Artrax as an example, they lived hale and hearty, developing unique customs and spreading throughout the land.
But not all humans were satisfied with Artrax’s magic. Humans were creatures capable of deep emotions—butthey were flawed. They were too young to accept, to understand, such a precious gift. They grew greedy.
A lone sorcerer decided he wanted all of Artrax’s magic. To put humans above those who lived and created magic. Sinestrus gathered others with him, and together they searched the land for a magic powerful enough to destroy Artrax.
They found it in the depths of the earth. Locked away by blood magic and sacrifice, Void Soul lingered. Too powerful for a single human, the dark magic took over and leeched into the land. Magic was poisoned, destroying all it touched.
Along with the bravest of humanity, Artrax and the dragons fought Sinestrus. The battle was bloody, and though they were victorious, the cost was grave. Artrax was grievously injured.
As the great dragon was dying, he and the humans who fought by his side locked Sinestrus away. Artrax used the last of his magic, his very life force, to seal Sinestrus Void Soul in one of his mighty scales.
Where he fell, a mountain grew. Granite rock and impossible peaks, it stretched so high into the sky that the peak had never been seen. It was in the heart of this mountain that Sinestrus was hidden, locked away by Artrax’s remaining magic.
Upon his death, the remaining dragons fled. But with the dragons, what magic that wasn’t poisoned slowly died out. With it, the rest of the magical creatures. Only thosewho could live on the dregs, those who could adapt, stayed behind.
Without Artrax’s benevolence, humanity struggled.
Eventually, they found their way. Several bloodlines carried the knowledge of magic and they gathered together, created cities with great walls to keep themselves pure. Soon, the tale of Artrax’s sacrifice faded into legend, and in time, it was twisted into something ugly. No longer a sacrifice for the sake of love, he was seen as selfish. Cruel. Taking magic away from the people.
Outside of the walls, the few humans that survived the battle with Sinestrus remembered. They gathered their families close to the mountain range where Artrax died so they could watch over their savior. Years passed, but they never lost sight of their hero. Artrax’s name was whispered around campfires, his heroic deeds told to wide eyed children who would later play pretend in the crabgrass.
These Clansmen stayed far from Kaledonea’s walls, choosing to live close to the land Artrax and his dragons loved so much.
But like the changing seasons, humanity was doomed to repeat the same mistakes of the past. Amongst their complacency, evil is growing. Time spares no one, and the granite mountain began to crack.
Sinestrus Void Soul is calling.
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
WHY ARE YOU WEARING A DRESS?
Hoofbeats thundered across the hard packed dirt, a steady thrumming that shook the ground and whipped up a fine layer of dust. Leaning low over his pony’s neck, Ridan whooped, his cry ripped over his shoulder to dissipate into the sunny afternoon. Blinking the grit from his sight, he looked over his shoulder to see Jonen closing in on him. Close enough, he could count his friend’s eyelashes and see the bounce of his curls with every stride of his brown pony.
But not for long.
Burying his fingers in his pony’s wiry mane, he dug his bare heels into her roaned sides, knees opening to let Peppercorn’s stride lengthen. Her ears flicked back, pinning against her skull as she raced forward with a burst of speed that pulled more cackling laughter from Ridan’s abused throat.
Peppercorn’s well-muscled back undulated under him, but Ridan was still. His balance was impeccable, as it should be. He’d been astride a horse before he could walk, just like every other clan child. Riding came aseasy as breathing and he could not recall the last time he’d been unseated.
Jonen probably could, but only so he could rub Ridan’s face in it.
With his hands buried in the red and white strands of his pony’s roached mane and the braided reins flopping on her neck, he steered her with his knees. With a flick of an ear, she turned, strides shortening enough to cut across a swathe of crabgrass before opening up again.
“Ridan!” Jonen’s high-pitched voice cut through the wind, buffeting his ears, but Ridan ignored him.He was going to win.
The end of their race was the scrubby tree line to the northeast of the village, an easy track through the open plains that took them around the mess of tents and buildings that built up the sprawling Stone Blade tribe—but Ridan wasn’t going to take that route.
As the sun beat down on his messy blonde hair, he sat up, legs squeezing as Peppercorn careened into the village. He whipped around the tanner’s tent, wrinkling his nose as the stink of tanning leather stuck to him even at his breakneck speed.
Ducking under a clothesline, he grinned at the curses thrown his way as Peppercorn easily maneuvered her way through two close wagons. Sweat slicked down his neck as he shortened the reins, ready to help guide his pony through the chaos of mid-day at the village.