Chapter 2 #3
Whatever had started the feud, and despite Kavon’s father making many attempts to defuse it, it was still alive and well.
And now it was also fueled by the blood of Kavon’s father.
Drog had lured Colan away with talks of peace, and killed him in a way dishonorable to any warrior.
Of course, Drog had crowed far and wide that he’d killed the great Colan Mal Dor in a fair fight.
Kavon, only nineteen years old at the time and still in training, had recognized that his father had been stabbed in the back by more than one weapon.
Kavon’s knuckles turned white. It had been no honorable warrior’s fight. Drog had ambushed his father.
The death of a warrior in a challenge cast a weak light on the family name.
After Colan’s death, other warrior families had distanced themselves from Kavon’s.
It had meant few would do business with Clan Mal Dor.
Villagers had defected, searching for a stronger family to claim protection from.
The farms had suffered, their livelihood had died away, and his mother and young sister had suffered.
Just thinking of them made his chest tighten.
Over the last fourteen years, he’d worked hard to rebuild the Mal Dor name. To be the family people wanted to do business with—for foodstuffs, for minerals—and to claim protection from.
He’d become the best warrior he could be. He’d led many battles for their king and gained his favor. But Kavon still needed one last thing to seal the honor his family deserved—his father deserved.
Kavon needed to find the legendary sword, Durendal.
He imagined presenting the historic blade to King Corant Mal Rann, King of Markaria, and his chest swelled.
A few months back, Kavon had celebrated his thirty-third birthday.
In the Way of the Warrior, his tempestuous age of boiling emotions and temper had passed.
He was now an experienced warrior, disciplined and controlled.
He’d learned to control and direct his nanami—was one with them.
In turn, they granted him speed, strength, and enhanced senses.
His biggest problem right now was that he had no idea where Durendal might rest. He had a team of scholars working on the problem, day and night. He’d sent warriors to search many locations, but they still hadn’t found it, and they were out of promising options.
Ahead, the protective walls of his estate rose. He lifted a hand to the warriors guarding the gates and directed Tarm inside, the beast’s sharp hooves clattering on the cobblestone street.
Something in the sky caught his attention and he slowed Tarm. Falling stars were filling the vast emptiness.
The strange showers had started a day ago. Sometimes they were just a few streaks across the sky, or like now, a rain of them. Kavon hoped it was the Great Warrior’s way of giving his support for Kavon’s quest for Durendal.
He heard voices ahead, and saw some of his clan spilling out of the great house. Farther down in the village, he saw people standing outside their homes, also joining others to watch the show in the sky.
Near him, he saw a young couple—a tall warrior-in-training with his arm around a pretty girl. She nestled into him, and the young man rested his face against her dark hair.
The tableau was an unwelcome reminder of the final thing he needed to gain favor with the king and bring honor to his family name.
He needed to find a wife.
He needed to marry the daughter of one of the powerful warlord families and make an alliance.
He released a long breath. He had no interest in a wife.
He liked sampling all the luscious women available to him when it suited him.
Besides, the few warlord daughters he’d met so far were spoiled and pampered creatures.
Not one had made his nanami sing. But it was a necessary piece of his plan, and he’d allow nothing to get in his way.
He looked up again, watching the trail of a particularly large and bright falling star. Maybe this was a sign his luck was going to change. That he’d find a woman who wouldn’t make the idea of marriage a chore.
Suddenly, a boom echoed through the sky.
Some of the people nearby gasped and a few screamed.
Kavon saw a huge object blaze across the sky, falling toward the ground. It carved across the sky like a fiery rock cast from Mount Vulc in the Northern Wastelands.
He didn’t take his eyes off the object’s path. Inside, he felt the rush of energy as his nanami flared. The object flew over his farmland and into the Wilds. There was an almighty din as it crashed into the ground.
Kavon turned. His warriors came to a stop behind him.
“Kian and Colm, you’re with me.”
Colm nodded. “Guess that ale and woman will have to wait.”
Yes, they would. “The rest of you, secure the estate.”
“Yes, Warlord,” they all called out before riding away.
Kavon looked toward the glow on the horizon. The light of whatever had crashed in the Wilds would be a beacon for everyone around—the wild darken beasts, raiders, Drog.
“Let’s go. Ride hard.”
It was a race to see who would get there first.