The Blade Heir (Book 1) by Daniel Adorno

away, as the old Slayer breathed in short, erratic spurts. He gripped Silas' hand in his cold, clammy fingers with what little strength he had left, fighting the unwelcome darkness ahead.
    "You fought bravely today, my lord ... you've brought no shame to the King or me," Asher gasped.
    "Be still, Asher, old friend. Do not let the darkness take you, please."
    "My time has come, my Prince. You must flee ... to the Feilon River ... all hope is lost if you die beside me ... go."
    "I cannot leave you here." Silas looked up to see the Draknoir slowly approaching down the hill at the foot of the forest. Their yellow eyes glared at him like vultures encircling a carcass.
    "You must go now, my lord ... fly. Fly to the Feilon," he said with a strained voice. Then his grip on Silas loosed, and his body grew limp. A final rasping breath escaped his lips as his eyes looked toward the night sky.
    Silas felt rage and sorrow fill his mind as he held onto Asher's hand among the hewn bodies of Draknoir and Drachengarde in the night. His mentor and friend had been taken away by the demonic beasts who now wished to lay a final blow upon him. Everything within his soul urged him to fight them to avenge Asher's death and the death of so many innocents slain by their filthy hands. But he could not deny Asher's last request. He must flee to Feilon River. If he died in this field, there would be no one left to avenge his fallen friend, his fellow Slayers, or more importantly, his sister. He fought back the painful memory of her death so many years ago and willed himself to stand—to run.
    Silas stood amid the stench of blood and death around him. The glowing yellow eyes of Nergoth's followers gleamed as they gathered a few feet from him. They watched him with crooked smiles that revealed jagged teeth. Their mouths uttered foul words he could not understand, but their eyes and movements revealed their intentions.
    "You will not bring me down this night, nor any night, before the blood of your kind runs fresh on my sword," Silas growled. He grabbed the arrow lodged within his shoulder and yanked it out in defiance.
    The Draknoir warriors snarled and raised their swords, ready to pounce on him. Silas gripped his sword tight in his right hand, and with his left he searched for a smooth, iridescent pebble inside his belt pouch. He clutched the pebble in his hand and whispered the words, " qui cum coram caeco . " He then threw the stone near the Draknoirs' feet. A bright flash engulfed the unsuspecting fiends, and they shrieked in horror, blinded by the light before them.
    Silas ran through the night, toward the faint sound of rushing water from the Feilon. The angry cries of the Draknoir filled the air as they realized what had transpired. He heard them running behind him and felt their arrows fly all around. His heart beat rapidly through the trek downhill to the banks of the river. A thick fog suddenly surrounded him, shielding him from the sight of his pursuers. He glanced back, seeing only fog, but hearing the war cries close behind.
    When his legs began to tire, he heard the rushing waters of the Feilon less than a yard ahead of him. A few feet further he saw the glimmering moonlight on the water at the bank's edge. He stopped abruptly on the bank and sheathed his sword. The current was too strong to allow him passage to the other side. Nergoth's blood! What now, Asher, old friend?
    The Draknoir were approaching fast, and he did not have time to think. He sighed deeply.
    "Yéwa, protect me," Silas cried before he dove into the murky waters of the Feilon River.
    Cold, rushing water overtook him as he plummeted to the river bottom. He fought the current and rose to the surface. He gasped for air while the river pushed him westward to the roaring waters of the Dulan. At the bank where he dove, the Draknoir warriors watched him float away and cursed at him in their black tongue. The longbow archers began to shoot their arrows at him, but he was out of