The Hellspawned Chronicles Book 1: The Hellspawned Knight

What was supposed to be a run of the mill bandit clean up ended up opening the door to a mystery.

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The Hellspawned Knight – 

 

Jackson McCade drove his sword forward, the blade singing a low, chilling note as it sank through the worn leather of the final bandit’s armor. A strangled gasp escaped the outlaw’s lips, and he sagged to the earth, joining his fallen comrades around the still-smoldering remains of their makeshift camp.

Smoke rose in twisting columns, the orange glow of dying embers reflecting the carnage left behind. Blood trickled down Jackson’s left arm, but he held firm, refusing to let the pain crack his composure.

He pulled in a long breath, tasting ash and soot. The bruises beneath his battle-worn cloak throbbed. Dusk had settled over Duskwarren Rise, painting the sky bruised purple and gray. The wind carried the tang of scorched wood and a bitter hint of metal.

Luke, lanky and agile, ambled forward with a dagger half-drawn, still scanning for any threat they might have missed.

“So.” Luke nudged the fresh bandit corpse with the toe of his boot. “I suppose that’s all of them. Unless one of these sods has a twin lurking behind a bush. That’s the kind of luck we have.”

Jackson’s breath puffed out in a short, humorless laugh. “Not a chance. I’ve counted a dozen or so. Looks like we got them all.”

Luke’s playful smirk widened. “I’m sure your demon-fire was a real crowd-pleaser.”

Jackson winced, not missing the kernel of unease Luke’s light words carried. Though they traveled together, Luke never forgot the cursed force coursing behind Jackson’s ribs. No one did. Shadows on Jackson’s neck shifted, runic scars pulsing with a faint glow as if the fight had stoked an infernal blaze inside him. They were a feature he never invited, and one he couldn’t mask.

Jackson sensed movement to his left, but it wasn’t a missed bandit. Riven approached like a silent specter, her steps hardly a whisper on the trampled grass. The wind ruffled her dark cloak, revealing lean muscles and a quiver perched on her back. Elven archers carried themselves differently than humans. They seemed to fuse with the surroundings, each breath and motion attuned to the land.

“They fought harder than I expected,” she mused. “But incompetent all the same.”

Luke cocked an eyebrow. “You do realize they nearly cut Jackson in half, right?”

“I noticed. Surprised your jokes didn’t make them surrender.”

“That would’ve required their sense of humor to be more refined,” Luke stated, feeling a small cut on his jaw. “Bandits around here seem to prefer the ‘stab first, banter never’ approach.”

Riven shrugged with a slight frown. “Humans have a knack for tearing each other apart. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s in your blood.”

Jackson forced his shoulders to relax, though something about Riven’s words set his teeth on edge. “Not all humans are like these outlaws,” he insisted softly. He stepped over the man he had recently dispatched, lips pressed tight. Killing was never pleasant.

He knelt, rummaging through the bandit’s belt pouch. His hope was to find something for the trouble. Silver coins, a keepsake. Bandits often traveled with small valuables. Instead, he discovered an ornate bit of parchment sealed with crimson wax and bearing a crest he recognized too well.

He carefully turned the object in his fingertips, King Rodric’s sigil pressed into the thick seal. Bright gold script indicated it wasn’t the typical tavern flyer or petty missive. His pulse kicked up a notch. “A royal courier’s dispatch?” he muttered.

“What?” Luke blinked, stepping closer. “They were carrying that?”

Riven glanced over, her elven eyes narrowing in curiosity. Her typically impassive silence found a crack. “Strange place for official correspondence.”

Jackson eased himself upright, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. “We need to see if these bandits intercepted this or if the Crown was trying to corner them. Either way, it’s a problem.” Perhaps the biggest problem he had seen in a while. He ran his thumb along the edges of the parchment. The seal was partially cracked but still discernible, undeniable evidence these outlaws had meddled with royal business.

Luke whistled, tapping the letter. “That’s King Rodric’s crest. Opening it might mark us as traitors if we’re not careful. Also, ironically, not opening it might do the same if we’ve stolen something important. We’re in that perfect spot where either choice feels like a trap.”

Jackson shook his head. “Better a trap we know than one we walk into blind. We’re going to open it. You two may want to step back.” He grabbed a half-broken crate, slammed a boot against it to flatten it into a makeshift seat, and sank down. The tepid glow of embers lit his features in a copper hue.

Riven’s gaze darted between the letter and Luke’s pensive stare. “Do it quickly, before the dying light hides any clues.”

After taking a careful breath, Jackson worked a finger under the brittle seal, trying not to destroy the crest while breaking it free. Beneath the wax lay a few cramped lines of text. The edges looked smudged, suggesting the letter might have been handled roughly in the scuffle. He started scanning, his lips pressed thin. The writing was direct, lacking any trace of pleasantries. He recognized the royal scribe’s precise script.

We urgently request the presence of Sir Jackson McCade in the capital. A matter of grave import connected to rumors of baronial unrest. Signed by the word of King Rodric.

He exhaled, folding the parchment gently. Knowing the letter was specifically for him sparked an uneasy knot in his chest.

Luke’s eyebrow shot up. “Wait. That’s not just any summons. It’s addressed to you?”

Jackson nodded. “It is.”

“How in the gods’ names did a pack of bandits get hold of it?” Luke scowled at the bodies around them, some moaning softly, many no longer moaning at all.

“Bold,” Riven observed. “Humans pocketing the king’s letter. What did they expect to do with it?”

“Sell it, maybe,” Luke suggested, gesturing with a gaunt, calloused hand. “Or intercept it on someone else’s orders. Doesn’t matter now. They’re not going to trade anything today. Let me see that.”

Jackson hesitated but extended the letter for Luke to glance at. The traveler’s eyes flicked over the text. His grin evaporated as he reached the bottom. “So, we hustle to the capital, or what? When the King’s Eye calls like this…well, let’s say ignoring a royal dispatch is the quickest path to an unmarked grave.”

Riven stepped closer, her expression betraying neither excitement nor fear. “The letter demanded Jackson specifically. Are we invited, too, or should we vanish?”

Jackson’s neck scar burned faintly. “Seems the Crown commanded me alone.” He glanced between them. “But I could use help. The war broke enough trust that folks might assume I’m one breath away from unleashing demon-fire on them.”

Riven’s gaze dropped to the ground, then she spoke in a clipped tone. “We share a common cause. Outlaws along the borders, rumors of feuding barons. If the bandits are bold enough to intercept royal messengers, the threat extends beyond your realm. I’ll go, if only to ensure these scum don’t creep toward elven lands again.”

Luke’s lips curved with a wry enjoyment. “Guess I’m in, too. I do so love charming the socks off suspicious townsfolk.”

Jackson rose with a pained groan. The muscles across his back screamed in protest. “Then let’s see if these bandits had anything else worth salvaging. We’ll need supplies. I can’t show up to the capital like a street brawler.”

The three of them fanned out, poking around the smoldering camp. Old bedrolls and half-eaten rations littered the site. Most of the bandits had been living rough, judging by the ragged tents and rusted cooking pots. One corner of the ravaged camp revealed a meager stash of stolen goods, a couple of silver ingots, a few coins, and mismatched weaponry that none of them regarded with much interest.

Riven frowned at the meager pickings, running her fingers along a chipped short sword. The smell of burned cloth stung her nostrils. As an elf, her senses were more enhanced than her human companions.

Luke nudged aside a half-rotted trunk, rummaging through a pile of tangled belts and broken scabbards. “All worthless,” he grumbled. “Ugh. Risked our necks for scraps.”

“The big find is the letter,” Jackson reminded him, turning a small, tarnished ring over, then weighing it in his palm. It wasn’t even real silver. Perhaps iron, painted over. Worthless, some cheap trinket a highway bandit might use as a ruse. He pocketed it anyway out of habit. “We’ll need travel coin, though.”

“I can help,” Riven offered. She knelt near the largest tent, rummaging quickly, then emerged with a modest leather pouch that jingled faintly. “At least it’s something.”

Luke craned his neck to see. “Well, the day’s not a total bust.”

They regrouped near the embers, which had cooled to a dull glow. The air carried a damp chill that cut through their cloaks. Jackson swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He cleaned his sword on a rag taken from a fallen bandit’s patchwork armor, then sheathed it.

As Riven stood watch, Luke knelt by Jackson’s side to check his injuries. The warm flicker of dying firelight revealed a blossoming bruise along Jackson’s ribs. “Definitely going to need downtime soon,” Luke quipped, carefully pressing the bruise. “Can’t have you keeling over on the road.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not that bad.”

“Stubborn is not a synonym for healthy.”

“Means I’m still breathing.” He stretched, ignoring the pinch in his side. “We have to leave soon if we want to get there before whoever set these bandits on the courier gets wise that we’re coming. The capital is far.”

A rustle of wind swept across the remains of the campsite, scattering ash. Riven’s keen elf ears lifted slightly. Her expression grew taut. “We should move tonight. Dawn will see us slowed by travelers on the roads.”

Luke brushed the dirt off his knees and stood. “Fun times ahead. Nothing says we can’t catch a little rest after we’re beyond Duskwarren Rise. I’m sure you can handle riding a few miles in pain, oh fearless demon knight.”

Jackson shot Luke a stern look, but no actual anger was behind it. Years of living with the brand on his flesh only deepened his resolve not to lash out at harmless jests. “Call me ‘demon knight’ too often, and someone else might start believing it,” he remarked.

Riven’s gaze flicked over. “They already do,” she murmured, not unkindly. “But if you can lead us out of here alive every time, I don’t care what rumors they spread.”

The small compliment left the air silent. Jackson set his jaw. He had not asked for the infernal mark, but every skirmish proved a curse could be twisted into a tool of survival. He turned back to the bandit corpses. Most lay in scattered heaps around the blackened campfire. A sour tang of char drifted from the scattered debris. “Let’s at least bury them,” he suggested. “We’re not animals.”

Luke sighed. “You’re right. But you’ll do the heavy lifting with that freakish strength of yours.”

Riven’s eyes flashed, but she wordlessly moved to help organize the bodies. They worked methodically, clearing a shallow scrape in the dirt for each. Jackson’s knuckles stung where he pressed them into the hard earth, muscles already protesting from the fight.

The sky deepened in color, the last purple smudging into near darkness. They said no prayers nor lingered in sentiment, but at least the scoundrels wouldn’t be devoured by crows. Even a petty bandit deserved an end with a little dignity.

By the time they finished, the moon had risen, pale and cold above the silhouettes of twisted pine trees. Luke used the tip of his dagger to prod the fire’s remnants, scattering sparks into the night. Riven folded her arms, glancing east, her posture tense.

Jackson shifted, muscles knotting at the memory of the courier’s satchel scrap. He stooped near the bandit who had carried the royal letter, no doubt the leader of this sorry group. The man’s ragged cloak reeked of old ale.

A quick check revealed a hidden pocket inside the cloak, holding a single torn scrap of cloth with King Rodric’s crest. Tattered edges suggested the courier might have struggled to keep it from them. A surge of anger mingled with regret in Jackson’s chest.

He rose and rubbed the back of his neck. This never should’ve happened. The war might have ended, but outlaws still roamed free. That letter was evidence. The king obviously needed something from him. And the monarch’s requests weren’t trifles.

Luke studied Jackson’s face. “You’ll answer that summons, yeah?”

Jackson clenched his jaw, remembering the king’s watchful gaze the last time they met, when he’d first joined the King’s Eye. “I can’t ignore it.” The faint glow of his markings flared in renewed frustration. “Damn it, I was hoping to stay under the radar.”

Luke gave a tired half-smile. “Since when do you do anything quietly?”

Riven shot them a sidelong glance. “Humans have a flair for drama. It’s how you survive your short lifespans, perhaps.”

Jackson released a dry snort. “Could say the same for elves, though from your perspective, I imagine it’s all foolish noise. But if you want to come with me, I won’t refuse. You saved my life back there.”

Riven inclined her head, acknowledging the gratitude without voicing it. She reached for her bow, checking the string and adjusting her quiver. “I go for my own reasons. The rest is convenient timing.”

A breeze carried the scent of wild lavender from a nearby ridge, a curious sweetness amid the aftermath of bloodshed. Jackson stared at the letter, brow furrowed. An uneasy tension hummed through his bones. King Rodric must have known trouble was brewing. Perhaps these outlaws were only a symptom. What else is coming? he wondered.

Still, the letter asked for him. From the looks of Riven’s calculating eyes and Luke’s easy grin, the three of them might become an odd traveling party. Jackson found no comfort in that, but it was better than facing this uncertain call alone.

He glanced at Riven. “I do want to know something. Why show up and help us at all? The bandits were a threat to the region, but you’ve obviously got bigger issues with humans.”

She paused. “Keeping my domain free of wretched pests is reason enough. These bandits earned an arrow the moment I heard they planned to push deeper into elven territory to hide. I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

Luke wagged a finger. “So you’re playing the ominous elven avenger type, eh? I like it.”

Riven’s expression didn’t change, but faint amusement crossed her eyes. “And you’re playing the fool, I see.”

“Professionally so,” Luke retorted, snapping a flamboyant bow. “I should have been a court jester. Don’t know how I ended up here.”

Jackson turned away from their banter and folded the letter neatly, placing it in a safe inside pocket of his cloak. “We’ll worry about roads, rations, and justifying our next move when dawn breaks. For now, I need a moment.” He gingerly touched the bruise on his side.

“Don’t bleed out,” Riven stated curtly, though her glance carried a glimmer of concern.

“Would ruin the mood,” Luke added.

Jackson sank against the trunk of a gnarled tree, mind churning despite his exhaustion. At his feet, an ember popped, sending a tiny shower of sparks skyward. Wherever the next step takes me, I can’t abandon it. His vow to the Crown wasn’t easily broken, and ignoring this summons would only coil that oath tighter.

He felt the swirling presence of the same infernal power that let him slash and burn through brigands. It churned in his veins, a dark echo urging him to charge forward, heedless of the cost. He fought it as he always did, refusing to let it submerge him in rage.

Riven moved closer, shifting her weight. “You said nothing about these ‘ghosts’ that haunt you,” she murmured.

Jackson’s voice was quiet as he answered. “Those ghosts remain mine to carry.” He glanced at Luke, who busied himself tying off a wound on his forearm, then offered her a shrug. “I know where I stand. The king’s call can’t be ignored. I’ll face it, no matter what nightmares it stirs.”

 

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What awaits this gang of ruffians? Find out on March 19th, when The Hellspawned Chronicles Book 1: The Hellspawned Knight is released. Until then, head over to Amazon and pre-order it today.