Prologue: Rondeth Hewsturn
The Dusk Raider was dead.
Satisfaction burned within the pirate lord, Rondeth Hewsturn, at the news. Justice had been served. The boy had gotten what he’d deserved.
But then, a pang of disappointment stung him. And something else was there. Something he wasn’t quite used to.
The slightest prick of grief.
It wasn’t just the Dusk Raider that had died. His own nephew was gone. And his plans for a family empire. His nephew had been the hope of his plans – that together they could conquer the world.
And now that was all gone.
Lord Rondeth Hewsturn stood on his balcony, gazing out at the dark water of the Vatirchian Sea.
The orange evening light glinted off the dark sea water. The ocean stretched out for miles into the distance, finally blending into the dark horizon. Dark blue waves crashed against white sand, enveloped the slate-colored rocks in their warm embrace, and licked oak beams that held up the docks just outside of the dark walls of Lord Hewsturn’s Vatirchian headquarters.
The wind brushed at his face and his red cloak flapped behind him. He ran his fingers against the rough wooden railing and inhaled the salty air. Searching the water, he spotted the faint outline of one of his pirate ships perched on the edge of the horizon, looking like it was about to fall off the edge of the world into an abyss of nothing.
He had been thinking about all his accomplishments, and the young Gordon Madrith whom he was going to install as his new second in command, when he had heard the news of his nephew.
It wasn’t extremely shocking. After all, it had been Rondeth Hewsturn’s own plan. He had exiled his own nephew to one of his pirate ships – death sentences – because of his nephew’s treason. He had been grieved then, too. But now it was done. His nephew was gone. And it stung him more than he’d realized it would.
But that wasn’t all the news he’d received. Something strange had happened on the ship when his nephew had died. Something to do with a sword.
The man who bore the news stood behind him on the deck, clutching a piece of paper on which the messages were scribbled.
“You said there was more.” Rondeth reminded him. The man nodded.
“Yes, sir. There is.” he cleared his throat and spoke, “One of the men on the ship found a sword. It was floating on a piece of wood, and he collected it. Said it was special. In fact, the blade made him –according to the account – disappear. He came back and said they’d been there the whole time, but it doesn’t quite make sense. While escaping, your nephew got hold of a weapon, killed the man who discovered the blade and took the sword when he dropped it. When the boy drowned, he took the sword with him.”
Intrigued, Rondeth turned around.
“I’ve never heard of such a weapon,” he mused, stroking his chin. The emotions toward his nephew were gone. For the moment, all thoughts of his nephew were gone from his mind, all replaced with this fascinating weapon.
Then Rondeth frowned again, and his voice was disappointed. “I suppose it’s on the bottom of the ocean by now. Out of my reach. Pity, a sword like that could have been of some use.”
Though his words seemed to dismiss the idea of ever having the weapon, his eyes searched the thundering waves for glinting metal.
Maybe the sword had been washed ashore? He could only hope.
End of Sample