Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Blood Debts: Chronicles of Cambrea
    Blood Debts: Chronicles of Cambrea
    Blood Debts: Chronicles of Cambrea
    Ebook249 pages3 hours

    Blood Debts: Chronicles of Cambrea

    By Julie Ann Dawson

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The sequel to The Doom Guardian. 

    The Spirit Wall still stands, but there are other ways to shatter a world. And Cambrea is a fragile world indeed. 

    Nadia and Alexandros may have escaped the battle of Gadara, but they can't escape their growing list of enemies. The Necromancers will waste little time before seeking their revenge against those that undid decades of rituals and planning. The Felsworn too have unfinished business regarding their own thwarted plans to bring a Demon Lord into the world. The games played by members of House Thairentre threatens to ensnare them both in a web of deception and danger. Barcani Vassu, Lord of Goldkeep, still wants Alexandros' head mounted to his wall; and one of Galenen's most deadly Blades has decided to take up the contract himself...for a rather personal reason.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBards and Sages Publishing
    Release dateMay 15, 2018
    ISBN9781386169611
    Blood Debts: Chronicles of Cambrea
    Author

    Julie Ann Dawson

    Julie Ann Dawson is an author, editor, publisher, RPG designer, and advocate for writers who may occasionally require the services of someone with access to Force Lightning (and in case it was not obvious, a bit of a geek). Her work has appeared in a variety of print and digital media, including such diverse publications as the New Jersey Review of Literature, Lucidity, Black Bough, Poetry Magazine, Gareth Blackmore’s Unusual Tales, Demonground, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and others. In 2002 she started her own publishing company, Bards and Sages. The company has gone from having two titles to over one hundred titles between their print and digital products. In 2009, she launched the Bards and Sages Quarterly, a literary journal of speculative fiction. Since 2012, she has served as a judge for the IBPA's Benjamin Franklin Awards.

    Read more from Julie Ann Dawson

    Related to Blood Debts

    Related ebooks

    Fantasy For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Cast Out

      Jul 10, 2021

      Verity pushed back the quilts, rolled off her straw mattress onto the floor, felt for the poker, and stirred the ashes. The embers glowed. She wouldn’t have to go fire-borrowing again. Her chilled hands were clumsy. One glowing bit of wood rolled fro

      21 min read

    • Article

      The Invitation

      Aug 21, 2023

      York, October 1644 Before I’ve even mustered the courage to knock, the door to the townhouse flings open. I drop my hand. “It is me, John Falmouth,” I say and wince at how loud my voice carries into the night. My greeting falters when I look up and n

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Book of Loki

      Mar 12, 2018

      The Book of Loki
      20 min read

    • Article

      Sepulturum

      Feb 26, 2020

      Sepulturum
      7 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems by Phillip B. Williams

      Dec 15, 2017

      The masters are yet dead. Wanting to be human,I tried to rewrite The Waste Land. The canon’s reachcasts ruinous light. The masters’ pens breachthis page where, above, my own hand spectates. Babylonrisen, exorcism in reverse, whose nature upended now?

      6 min read

    • Article

      Speaking Ill Of THE LIVING

      Apr 19, 2023

      Do you come here often?’ I’ve been asked this a few times over the years, but never in a hospital waiting room. ‘Oh,’ I replied. ‘Something like every six months. Just routine. Could be worse. How about you?’ My new friend was a man in his mid-70s, a

      3 min read

    • Article

      Judges

      Mar 10, 2024

      The doctors assured me the shrapnel in my leg would do no further harm if they “let sleeping dogs lie,” or at least less harm than trying to take it out would cause. “Hey,” I asked them. “What if it decides to cut its way out all on its own?” My grea

      12 min read

    • Article

      Cold Calling

      Jan 18, 2021

      Two or three phone calls per week. Every week for six months. All more or less the same. “Hello Mrs Redmond, this is Martin/Tim/Alice/Marmaduke [I’m serious], I’m calling from your internet provider to let you know that your broadband server has been

      6 min read

    • Article

      You’ve Got A Friend In Me Author Allison Pearson On Real, Meaningful Friendship

      Oct 14, 2019

      The other day, my friend Karen turned down an invitation to lunch with a neighbour. The woman had lived across the road for years and, although they were chatty, they’d never got close. Recently, the woman started messaging daily, suggesting they mee

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Art Of Conversation

      Nov 1, 2023

      The Art Of Conversation
      4 min read

    • Article

      Bound

      Apr 10, 2022

      I came fully awake as I sat up and cracked my head on the thwart of my upturned canoe. The pain cleared my head. I felt under my bedroll for my knife, hoping I hadn’t made enough noise to attract the attention of whatever—whoever?—had waked me. I did

      17 min read

    • Article

      SHORT STORY by MARGARET ATWOOD

      Mar 22, 2023

      SHORT STORY by MARGARET ATWOOD
      7 min read

    • Article

      Community Of Peers

      Feb 10, 2021

      After the war, I travelled to a village in the south of the province. It was my intention to vacation for the weekend in an unknown land. I followed a small river that was alternately green beneath the foliage of the forest and blue while it coursed

      6 min read

    • Article

      Introduction

      Jul 1, 2021

      Introduction
      3 min read

    • Article

      If Not Now, Then When?

      Apr 15, 2020

      IN the beginning, we didn’t know it was the beginning. Our worries were elsewhere. After the wettest winter in memory, our fields of winter wheat looked like the bayous of Louisiana. The machinery barn stood tomb-like, the green hulks of machinery in

      3 min read

    • Article

      Inside People

      Jan 18, 2022

      Inside People
      10 min read

    • Article

      SHORT STORY by MARGARET ATWOOD

      Mar 22, 2023

      SHORT STORY by MARGARET ATWOOD
      7 min read

    • Article

      Honey & Spice

      Aug 8, 2022

      So, he was good with kids; had a softness to him. The most dangerous thing about that was clearly it wasn’t performed: there was no way he could fake the adoration with which he looked at that angel. With that obnoxious display of genuine cuteness, h

      5 min read

    • Article

      The Courage To Be Happy

      Feb 1, 2023

      MARRIAGE and columns have this in common: you tend to repeat yourself. More than once in these pages, I have quoted the New Yorker’s legendary film critic Pauline Kael. After President Nixon’s landslide victory in 1972 she wrote: ‘I live in a rather

      3 min read

    • Article

      Dark Dweller

      Jan 25, 2023

      Dark Dweller
      6 min read

    • Article

      Where Night Stops

      Jan 15, 2018

      Where Night Stops
      6 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Jan 1, 2023

      And god created the waves and we the graves beneath, bodies madeparticulate by the force of water against water, water against rock, againsttime. I descend into the deep in a kind of prayer, listen to its centuries.Make me pay, will you, make me hurt

      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Blood Debts

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Blood Debts - Julie Ann Dawson

      This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or undead is coincidental and frankly rather disturbing.

      Part One: Tasks Done and Left Undone

      Chapter One: Heretics and the Devout

      The priest knelt humbly before the altar but did not bow his head. Instead, he pulled his dagger from its embroidered scabbard beneath his ceremonial robes. He held it gently in both hands, admiring the way the soft candlelight of the temple’s antechamber danced off the polished black glass blade and the exquisitely carved goldstone hilt. The way the light gently flickered off the countless flecks of gold embedded in the copper-red stone provided a sweet comfort.

      You have gone thirsty for far too long, my old friend, the priest said as he slid a fingertip over the flat of the blade. He touched the tip of his fingertip to the tip of the blade to test its sharpness. When he pulled his finger away, a tiny pinpoint of blood greeted him. He smiled.

      His practiced ears heard the door open behind him. He recognized the sound of the footsteps that followed and nodded to himself. He placed the dagger on the altar, allowing his fingers to linger for a brief moment

      Were you delayed, or stalling? he asked with a careful measure of courtesy and directness.

      A bit of both, if I am to be honest, replied the visitor.

      Your honesty is always appreciated.

      You say that now. That opinion may change if you ask me to grant my blessing to this foolishness.

      Which is why I have not asked you for your blessing, the priest replied. I have no desire to argue with you over this. I ask only for you to do your duty.

      Duty? An odd choice of words, considering the circumstances.

      It is a legitimate contract, the priest stated, still focusing his eyes on the altar before him. It is a contract that would be too difficult for our younger Blades to fulfill and one that requires the special expertise of a more experienced assassin.

      Since when should a Master Host go off after a common jewel thief? There are Blades aplenty hungry for this contract. Blades who would benefit from the honor of completing it. You have nothing to prove.

      Are you trying to argue whether or not this contract is beneath my station? You above all should know how formidable the target is. I would hardly call Alexandros Thairentre a common jewel thief.

      This has nothing to do with your station, replied the visitor. His voice cracked as he struggled to hide his agitation in this most holy of places within the temple. "If he was any other damnable Maret this wouldn’t matter. But The Blood Pacts are clear on this. ‘Accept no contract against your kin. Accept no contract against those to whom you have pledged hospitality.’"

      "He is not my kin, nor have I ever extended hospitality to him. I believe that was your doing."

      "This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. And we both know it."

      "She is not the target. The Grand Host himself invalidated the original contract. And I have no interest in that heathen contract in circulation. I would be insulted at the implication if it can from anyone else’s mouth."

      And if she stands between you and the target? What then?

      The priest chuckled and shook his head. In order for that to happen, she would first need to see me coming. And if anyone knows how to avoid her senses, it would be me. I trained her, remember?

      Don’t put yourself in this position. This is vengeance without cause. Katrina’s death was her own doing, not Nadia’s. Not yours. Katrina took up the heretic’s calling on her own volition. Nadia took your lover, and now you have to take hers? What do you gain with this folly?

      Why does it matter to you? Is it because Katrina worked right under your nose? Spied on you in your own office while you talked to her prey and offered them Sanctuary?

      Now you just sound petty.

      Do I?

      There was a long pause as the visitor contemplated the matter. She was a heretic, Simon. And you would soil your status over this?

      The priest stood up slowly, placing both hands on the altar as he did. He tried to focus his thoughts on the glistening dagger before him, but his mind wandered to the tarnished silver locket in his pocket. "She wasn’t a heretic, Carlson. She...she just didn’t understand the finer points of Galenen’s purpose. If she faltered, then we are to blame. It falls on us to educate our Blades in Galenen’s mysteries. Katrina went to you and asked for guidance before taking up the task. You told her it was above her station without explaining to her what that meant. She took it as an insult to her skills and not instruction in our beliefs. She came to me and asked for guidance, and I—"

      Simon, this is not your battle. No good comes of this. There are other Blades capable of completing the contract. You have made this personal. If it is your dagger that fulfills this obligation, it will be no different than driving the dagger into her heart. And should you fall to him instead; the result will be the same to her. You know this.

      You have always been a good mentor, and an even greater friend, Carlson, replied Simon. He picked up his dagger and returned it reverently to its scabbard. "And, yes, this is personal. But not in the way you think. Katrina is the catalyst, but not the cause. This is my personal crisis of faith. Strange that it is that it would take so long to happen, but we are all tested by the Master Assassin eventually. I know in my heart that I am the only one capable of fulfilling this contract. I trained Nadia. She knows our methods and our ways. She will be ready for as many Blades as we want to throw at them. How many of our Blades can I justify sending to their deaths against them when I can do this myself? When I am the only one that can?"

      He turned to face his mentor, whose face was full of grief for him. How many of our brothers and sisters can I allow to die over this? You have seen the reward on the contract. How many children are going to throw their lives away trying to claim it? Do I just sit back and allow babes to throw themselves before wolves? How much more blood can I allow to be spilled when it is within my ability to end it?

      You loved her once, said Carlson.

      And I still do, replied Simon. He took a quick breath and briefly considered the words he had just spoken. But this is...beyond love. Galenen demands his death. The contract is valid and I am capable of completing it. My soul is bound to Galenen, even if my heart is still bound to her. The ties that bind me to our god are stronger than those that bind me to this world or any woman. Katrina’s death has taught me this. You understand, even if you argue otherwise.

      Carlson smiled weakly. I worry for you, Simon. Your history with her is no secret. If you fail, there are those who will diminish your memory by claiming you willed it such. That you would sacrifice yourself in order to allow him to escape for her sake. You’ve heard the whispers.

      I do not concern myself with whisperers, Simon said. Carlson shook his head. Simon looked back at the altar. "It was I that accepted the contract on her before the Grand Host invalidated it. I showed her no special favor then, and yet still the whisperers did not seal their lips. Why should I worry about them now?"

      I simply worry for you, my friend. But...I cannot disagree with your interpretation of the Holy Texts. The elder priest lowered his head thoughtfully. And it would seem the Grand Host also agrees with your interpretation as well.

      You spoke with His Holiness over this?

      Carlson nodded. I sought his counsel on the matter. I am still conflicted on this thing you seek to do, but he is as always resolute. Should your dagger drink deeply and fulfill this contract, The Grand Host has declared that he would name you Solicitor of Cambrea.

      Simon folded his arms in front of him. That position should be yours, Carlson. You have worked toward that goal your entire life. I never sought it.

      You are kind, Simon. But that position should go to whom His Holiness decides is most worthy. Like you, I am bound by the tenets of our faith. My personal desires do not negate my duties.

      Then if His Holiness wills it so, that is all the more reason this must be done.

      "But he has also said that every care must be taken for you not to kill her, less we inadvertently strengthen the Necromancers if we do. Already they have made attacks on our more remote temples, and there are rumors they have formed a more formal alliance with the Felsworn. We cannot give them leverage against us. And if by some accident her death is unavoidable, her body must be dealt with to prevent—"

      I know. I know better than anyone what must be done, and what must be avoided.

      Then it is decided. I hereby relieve you of your duties to the Marionhold temple and close the contract on the Maret into your care alone. You may, however, call upon any resources of the temple you require. All of Galenen’s Blades are at your disposal should you need them. Take up this task with the blessings of the Grand Host himself.

      And what of your blessing, Carlson?

      If you don’t mind, I would rather withhold it. This whole matter...it makes me feel unclean.

      Your honesty is still appreciated, my old friend, said Simon as he patted his mentor on the shoulder.

      May Galenen guide your blade, Simon.

      May he guide us all.

      MOVE, DAMN IT! NADIA Gareth ordered to her companion as she stepped purposefully over one of the headless corpses at her feet. With still at least two hours until the sun reached the noon sky, it was already turning out to be a very long day.

      Alexandros Thairentre pivoted on his heels and blinked out of existence, allowing the blood-caked blade of Doom’s Touch a wide berth. A second later he reappeared behind her out of harm’s way, but Nadia still raised one arm to instinctively shield him while swinging the bastard sword with the other. The forceful blow sundered the assassin’s short blade, causing the hooded figure to stagger backward in disbelief. Nadia then reversed her grip and smashed the pommel into the figure’s skull, causing a sickening crack. As the killer’s body crumbled to the ground, Alexandros reached around Nadia’s waist and flicked his fingers in the direction of the nearby archer, sending a bolt of orange and red energy crackling toward the target. The bolt exploded into a ball of fire as it struck the archer in the chest.

      Nadia stuck the blade of Doom’s Touch into the ground, rested her forearms on the crossguards, and sighed as she watched the last of the assassins burn to death. Alexandros wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his chin on her shoulder while surveying the carnage.

      We aren’t even a hundred yards out from the village, he said in her ear. One would think they could have the courtesy of at least waiting until we camped, like respectable assassins.

      Contrary to what you might have heard, it isn’t unusual for assassins to attack during the day, she replied. Nobody looks for death in the shadows when the sun is shining overhead.

      Such a lovely sentiment. I can only imagine what we shall encounter when darkness falls, then.

      Nadia began examining the bodies. I suspect we should have a few days of calm after this. There are too many of them at once for there to be another immediate threat. Large hunting parties like this wouldn’t want to share the rewards or glory. They would strike before competition had a chance to get into place.

      That is not comforting, my love.

      Nadia shrugged.

      It was only four months ago that she was a Doom Guardian in the service of Nadru the Ferryman, God of the Dead. She had been sent to hunt down ghoul packs that were stalking caravans along the Merchant’s Way. It was a job beneath her station; something one assigned to new recruits in the order to test their mettle.

      The Crypt Keepers, however, had been trying to protect her from her old masters, the Necromancers, and thought sending her on a simple assignment would put her out of their reach. But the ghoul packs turned out to be Ghoul Lords, and the simple assignment spiraled out of control and placed her within arm’s length of the very people the Crypt Keepers were trying to keep her away from.

      Nadia pulled back the hood of one of the assassins to find an ebon face staring back at her with dead black eyes. She looked up at Alexandros to see one of those rare occasions when his face betrayed his thoughts. I take it your kind is not known to align with Galenen’s Blades? she asked.

      "Oh certainly Matriarchs have been known to contract with Galenen’s assassins, Alexandros said as he knelt next to her to get a better look. When money is no object, you hire the best. But join the temple? No. We are not the type to put our faith in faith."

      There is no signet ring, said Nadia while examining the assassin’s hands. All holy assassins of Galenen’s church wore signet rings to identify their place in the religion. The rings signified their oath to Galenen and were only supposed to be removed upon death.

      Alexandros stood and went to examine one of the other bodies. It too was a Maret, a dark elf like him. He unclasped the leather breastplate and ripped open the undershirt of the corpse. These were not Galenen’s assassins, my dear, he said as he sat in the blood-drenched dirt. He traced the pale red tattoo on the corpse’s chest with his index finger. These were Arlathen. Blood Debtors.

      Why do I not like the sound of that? asked Nadia while rifling through the assassin’s pockets.

      "I suspect it has something to do with the implied sense of desperation one called a blood debtor might possess. He shook his head and stood. And on top of everything else, these pants are now ruined." Alexandros placed his hands on his hips and looked down at his blood and dirt stained clothing. Nadia stood and started to pace as she waited for Alexandros to finish worrying over his dirty clothes and provide a better explanation.

      The Arlathen are those who have committed some significant crime against a Noble House, he finally said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his hands. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, those that got caught and were not killed immediately. Most crime in Nimellzar is handled privately, with the wronged party meting out judgment as seen fit. Nobody publicly admits to being a victim, you see. It’s considered a sign of weakness. Sometimes, if a criminal demonstrated some reasonable skill, he may be afforded a chance to make amends by accepting a Blood Oath. You agree to perform a specific task for the wronged party, and when the task is completed you are freed of the debt.

      Or you die trying, said Nadia. Nadia rubbed her temples to relieve some of the pressure building. I would think there is nothing to stop someone from agreeing to the task and then vanishing without a trace. Present company excluded, Marets are not renowned for their sense of honor.

      Comments like that will ruin my reputation, darling. Alexandros looked back at the corpse while wiping sweat from his neck. But you are correct, which is why the Matriarch will seal the deal with a Fel Mark. He pointed at the exposed tattoo. It allows a warlock to track the Arlathen’s movements and if necessary summon him back. It only vanishes when the task is completed.

      So when you say justice is a private matter, you mean private among the noble houses willing to engage in demonology?

      "Oh, they are all willing to do that."

      So who besides Lord Vassu have you stolen from?

      That would be a very long list to try and recite now. But this has nothing to do with anything so petty. He untied the ribbon from his thick red hair and started to run his hands through his hair as if shaking out sand. Since the incident in Gadara, whenever he employed fire spells his body temperature rose temporarily. It made his skin itch. Maybe I should cut my hair shorter? The longer locks do compliment my ears, however. Which do you prefer?

      We can talk about your hair later, said Nadia as she shook her head. Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or shall I drag one of the corpses back to the Crypt Keepers and have one of them commune with it for answers?

      You are beautiful when you get morbid, do you know that? You get the most delicious little curl in the corners of your mouth.

      I am in no mood.

      Ah, you have been saying that to me quite a bit recently. It is getting to be quite the effort to prove you wrong, sweetheart. Nadia emitted a low growl. Alexandros put his hands behind his back and looked down at his feet sheepishly. That particular Fel Mark would identify them as Arlathen of...of House Thairentre.

      "You’re Mother!? After all this

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1