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  Sword (The Brotherhood, #2)

  By Kody Boye

  Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN10: 1477430318

  ISBN13: 978-1477430316

  Cover art and design by Philip R. Rogers

  Edited by The Mysterious Vampire Iguana

  Interior formatting by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  There is a word

  There is a way

  That simply everyone

  Has to say

  In times of doubt

  In days of worry

  In months of fortune

  And years of doubt

  For those we are not

  And for those who are plenty

  Life is precious

  A great big seed

  That always blossoms

  And never dies

  When we move on

  We’re not really gone

  You’re still here

  Your spirit lives on.

  Dedicated to the memory of Betty Polson,

  Fly on, Grandma – Fly on

  Also by Kody Boye

  Amorous Things

  The Diary of Dakota Hammell

  Love and Other Horrors

  Sunrise

  Wraethworld

  Forthcoming

  Death (The Brotherhood, Book 3)

  Utopia

  Foreword

  During the early months of 2009, after I had my brain tumor scare and I once again started working on The Brotherhood Saga again, there was an extreme amount of pressure placed on me by my grandfather Larry’s slow decline in health. Diagnosed with throat cancer in late 2009, he was told that he would have anywhere from a few days to two weeks to live. However— when my grandfather showed almost supernatural signs of healing, I, along with most of my family, believed that this was something he could strike through—a miracle, you could have said, of epic proportions. Throughout the six months he lived after his death diagnosis, I was writing Blood, and when he finally died in March 2010 I was devastated—not, merely, for his passing, but for the fact that he did not get to see what I considered one of my most monumental peaks in writing.. There were many points during the reinterpretation of Blood that I felt as though I was on a timeline—not, from what many would have thought, my tumor scare, but for the fact that my grandfather would not get to see something I considered dear and true to my heart.

  When he died, I was left in a state of melancholy, and I continued to be in that state through the year and all the way up to May 2010, when I moved to Austin and finished the first draft of Blood. It was, at that moment, that I considered the one grandparent I had left—my grandmother Betty, on my mother’s side, whom had constantly praised me for my writing and was even at the point where she would try to push me along in the writing process so she could keep reading. After moving to Austin, and after letting Blood sit for nearly a year, I decided it needed a rewrite. About this time in 2011, though, my grandmother began to suffer medical problems that seemed to signal the end of her life. Unlike what we’d anticipated, she pushed on, just like my grandfather had. It was for this reason that I thought I was in the clear—that, when I was almost finished with the fourth Brotherhood novel, she would see the end of the series that my grandfather had only seen a part of.

  When my grandmother died unexpectedly in February (almost two years to the date of my grandfather’s death,) I was left with this horrible emptiness in my heart. My grandmother, who’d only read the first draft of the rewritten version of Blood, never got to see the new versions, nor the books that followed. I was devastated. My grandmother had always been one of my biggest supporters of my writing and to lose her was like losing a piece of myself.

  Even now, while I’m writing this introduction, almost two months to the date that my grandmother died, I am left with a longing that I feel I was never able to conquer—not, because, of my own devices, but because of the cruel nature of death.

  Throughout the end of Rebel, and now, as I’m finished and ready to put Sword out, I was and am haunted, and I will probably always be if only because my last pair of grandparents didn’t get to see one of my proudest accomplishments in my writing career. Now, whenever I think about The Brotherhood and the nature around why I decided to resurrect it, I always

  picture a few choice people in my head—my immediate family and then my grandparents. It was the thought of losing my talent and then later, losing them that compelled me to write even during my darkest of moments.

  Although my questions about death have never been answered, and though my skepticism behind what traditional methods say is harsh, I would like to believe that there is ‘something beyond this,’ if only because I don’t want either of my grandparents or any family member who’s passed to simply ‘disappear’ or ‘fade away.’

  It is with that I end this foreword and continue on with Odin’s story.

  Thank you for being here, and thank you for reading.

  Kody Boye

  4/8/2012

  aChapter 1b

  The young man pushed himself to the front of the boat. Eyes ablaze, hair whipping across his cheeks, he raised his hand to shield his face from the gust of wind that splashed up from the bow as the ship began to crest the sandbar.

  We’re here, he thought. We’re finally here.

  Heart on fire and mind rolling in waves of delirious pleasure, Odin jumped from his place near the bow and ran toward the second deck. Above, standing directly below the crow’s nest, Captain Jerdai smiled and screamed for his men to adjust the sales. “Adjust the sails!” he cried. “Adjust the goddammn sails!”

  The western wind would not stop them. This he already knew, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation as yet another gale whipped around the air and blasted the ship. It groaned once, indignant to the men who tried to adjust the Annabelle so, but eventually caved and the sails were adjusted just a fraction of a turn.

  “Odin!” Nova called, waving him over from his place near the stairway.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re almost there!” Odin cried, a smile breaking his face in half. “We’re home, Nova. We’re home!”

  The man’s face brightened three shades of red and he rushed to join him on the deck.

  The Ornalan channel was no more than three-hundred yards away.

  We’re almost home, he thought, smiling, reaching toward the bay before them. After all this time— “You ready, Odin?”

  “Ready for what, Nova?”

  “To be home.”

  Ready couldn’t describe it.

  They approached the Royal Ornalan Channel as if they were creatures discovering a world rich and bountiful. The ship slow, controlled by men and mages; the water harsh, yet calming upon their pursuit; the wind fierce, but slowly settling—as they drew closer, toward the place where ships came and left more than often to deliver supplies to the castle, theere stood an ancient gateway that was marked and scarred by both the weather and by previous attempts by pirates. Upon either side of the wrough-iron gate, arranged into 1

  2 | S w o r d

&
nbsp; both the deep water and the rocky shoreline beside it, stood two towers, both of which appeared like men long and distant and barking beneath the sun.

  “Look at it,” Nova breathed, wrapping his hands around the railing.

  Yeah, Odin thought, but could say little in response to his friend’s declaration.

  Within the twin towers, both of which remained solid and independent of one another, stood two men, bearing what appeared to be crossbows or some other form of advanced long-distance weaponry. Each conversed to one another with a series of hand signals, those of which Odin could not discern or even understand remotely, before the one in the western tower cupped his hands over his mouth and began to yell.

  “What’s he saying?” Odin asked.

  “He’s saying,” Miko said, stepping forward from beyond the scope of their immediate direction, “that we need to remain back a hundred feet.”

  Only one-hundred? Odin thought. Surely if men were intent on breaking into the channel they would simply fire rocks or something similar into the wrought-iron gate.

  While waiting for captain Jerdai to approach and signal to the men that he was indeed of Ornalan lineage, Odin crossed his arms over his chest and took slow, deep breaths, trying desperately to maintain hold on the nerves that threatened to spill over and make him into a completely other person. Not usually prone to such attacks, but not immune to them either, he thought of his previous life within the castle grounds and then of the duties that would come within the next months, those of which would surely seal within his heart a declaration of honor that would mark him as beneficial among his kingdom.

  I can do this, he thought. I know I can.

  Beside him, Nova shifted, crossed his arms over his chest, and let out a low grunt. It was more than obvious that he wanted to be off the boat and on castle grounds.

  When Jerdai stepped forward, the two mage brothers in tow, Odin sighed.

  “It’ll only be a moment,” Jerdai said, clapping his shoulder.

  Had the captain sensed his distress? Either way, it didn’t matter, for it would only be within a few moments that they would enter the channel and dock within the harbor.

  “How’s it feel to be home?” Domnin asked, casting a glance over his shoulder as both he and his brother held their hands prone, alight in fire and holding the ship steady.

  “Amazing,” Odin said.

  Such a word couldn’t describe his feeling. Knotted, deeply, inside his chest, it constricted around his spinal column and wove tendrils throughout his ribcage. The pressure alone was enough to make him uneasy, as he seemed in preparation for a grand snake’s meal, but he could deal with it, especially with both of his friends nearby.

  Jerdai raised his hands, cupped them to his mouth and yelled, “I am Captain Jerdai Solemn of the Elnan Peninsula! I come bearing the king’s men upon my ship!”

  “Who might these men be?” the tower guard called back.

  K o d y B o y e | 3

  “Odin Karussa, his knight master Miko and their friend Novalos Eternity!”

  “Wait while we relay your request.”

  Though it was almost impossible to tell just what was happening within the watch tower, as it was much higher than Odin could have ever predicted, the action became noticeable a few moments later—when, from its heights, a falcon appeared, spreading its wings and soaring toward the castle on the treacherous winds emerging from the west.

  “It won’t be much longer,” Miko said, clasping his shoulder.

  Odin sighed.

  He could only hope.

  It took but an hour’s time for the gate to open and for passage to be allowed.

  Rising, slowly, like a snail making its way across a long hot road, the gate lifted to reveal the essence of the sea—seaweed, some plantlife, even a fish or two, those of which crashed into the water slowly after being lifted from their mortal prisons. At the revelation, Nova perked up, instantaneously shifting to and fro on both of his feet. Miko himself managed to take a step closer and examine the world. Odin, however, could do little but stare.

  Only a few moments, he thought, swallowing a lump in his throat.

  As the boat entered the channel, cresting the land as though meeting a lover for the first time in years, the front sail came down and the ones at the side were raised. Pointed east in order to catch the ever-changing wind, they puffed out like cheeks from a small mammal and expanded with the air that would bring them one step closer to the small, private dock reserved for Ornala’s most-prestigious fleet.

  Within the room he’d called home for the last few months, Odin watched as the castle came into view.

  After all this time, he thought, it still looks beautiful as ever.

  Pearlescent, golden, like a sun rising over the mountains and the moon giving birth to her most splendid of rays—even after two years, it still looked the same, possibly even better than the first time he saw it when he was a boy. Seeing such a thing was enough to instill awe within his heart, a harp of strings within his chest that was endlessly drummed by the excitement coursing through his veins.

  “Are you ready?” Miko asked.

  Odin turned. Since his injury on the island, the Elf had taken to staying in bed whenever possible, preferring the comforts of wool and linen instead of the sun and wind. Though he seemed perfectly capable of walking, as evidenced by his presence near the front of the boat no more than a few long moments, he seemed placidly content to stay in bed, something that both troubled and comforted Odin at the same but conflicting time.

  He’s resting, Odin thought, nodding at the creature he’d called sire for more than two years. That’s good.

  But did that mean something else was wrong? A mere flesh wound couldn’t have stopped him, a towering hulk of muscle, could it?

  It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he’s awake and doing well.

  4 | S w o r d

  “Sir,” he said, stepping forward, grimacing as the boat shifted. Someone cried out on the deck and Jerdai screamed something he couldn’t discern. “Do you need something?”

  “No, Odin. Thank you though.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Nodding but unsure of himself, Odin seated himself on his knight master’s bed and stared at the wall before him. It took but a moment for the Elf’s long fingers to reach out and touch his arm.

  “You’re almost home, Odin. How does it feel?”

  “It feels great,” he smiled. “Better than I could have ever imagined.”

  “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “More than anything, sir.”

  Miko smiled. His teeth appeared even brighter in the strange half-light the ship offered.

  Standing, Odin made his way to the window once again and looked out at the castle.

  Home, he thought.

  The thought made him smile.

  Above, Odin watched as Jerdai and several of his ship hands began to maneuver the boat into the harbor. Struggling with both the sails and a series of ropes, they wove the ship and its several parts as though it were an instrument and struggled to press it within a space that was not at all suited for a ship as large as the Annabelle.

  “Sir,” Odin said, stepping toward Jerdai. “Is everything fine?”

  “Everything’s fine,” the captain said. “Look.”

  The man pointed. The two mage brothers stood nearby, hands alight with magic fire. Even from this distance Odin could feel the tension in the air.

  Lightning crackling in the air would have been the best way to describe what he now felt, slicing the calm in the air and lighting it with tension as though a fire were burning through a forest, but he didn’t bother to dwell on the thought. He merely nodded and fell back so the ship hands could do their work.

  I wonder why they didn’t ask me for help.

  “I’m not part of the crew,” he mumbled.

  “You say something?” Nova asked, stepping up to his side.

 
“No. Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  Odin nodded. His eyes strayed to the dock and the slanting hill it sat before.

  There, standing at the very top, was a man he’d been longing to see for the past two years.

  Daughtry.

  “Sir!” Odin cried, rushing to the side of the ship. “Sir! Daughtry! Can you hear me?”

  The mage didn’t reply. Instead, he raised a hand and waved, starting down the hill and making his way toward the dock they were now just pulling into.

  K o d y B o y e | 5

  “We should go below and help Miko gather his things,” Nova said, pressing a hand against Odin’s shoulder. “We can see your friend later.”

  “I know,” Odin replied.

  He turned and made his way down the stairs.

  “What’s happened?” Daughtry asked, frowning as Odin helped his knight master navigate the troublesome planks that made up the majority of the private dock.

  “An accident,” Miko said, face veiled beneath the hood of his cloak. “I am fine. It’s only a flesh wound.”

  “Only a flesh wound?” the mage asked.

  Miko nodded. The frown that painted the mage’s face was enough to make Odin hurt on the inside.

  He’s going to question us.

  Of course he would. What kind person would not ask about a man who’d been injured in the field, much less a man who’d been given knight status to train one of his own squires?

  Shaking his head, Odin adjusted his arm across the Elf’s back and straightened his posture, not in the least bit willing to reveal that his mood was sobered by the events talking place around them. “Sir,” he said, bowing his head before reaching forward to take the high mage’s hand. “It’s an honor to have you greet us.”