The Warrior’s Journey: Book 1: Destiny






A land of swords, magic and dark mystery.

A young man, Garrick Chilver, begins a journey that will change the world around him forever.

A dark horizon approaches and dangers follow his every step.

Tyrants and devils will rise and kingdoms will fall.

But with courage, honour and loyalty, the evils of this world can be fought.

The warrior’s journey begins.

                The old tales tell us that there was once a time, thousands of years ago, when the Gods walked the earth. They inhabited the bodies of chosen mortals and used them as vessels with which they could traverse the lands. In this form, the Gods experienced all human feelings and emotions. Love, joy, anger, jealousy, hatred. Some embraced this, whilst others stopped at nothing in their attempts to return to their higher plane of existence.

                At first there was a period of prosperity. The light and the dark Gods looked to improve the lands around them and enrich the lives of those who willingly served them. After a time though, like all beings that possess immense power, the Gods desired more. They seized more land and gathered millions of dedicated followers to carry out their every command, awestruck by the Gods’ vast and terrible power. Catastrophic wars were fought across entire nations. Whole generations were lost, kingdoms destroyed and the realms left in ruin. That was when the mortals fought back.

                Turning on their Gods and their destructive ways, the people rose up and as one force drove the Gods back. More death and suffering began, but for every vessel that was struck down, another God and their powerful influence was banished to their higher plane. More and more people were freed and, finally, the forces of the earth massed against the last of the Gods and executed each of the vessels, ushering in a time of peace and civilisation no one had ever known.

                As time passed this dark page of history became legend and then myth. Now there are few who remember the descent of the Gods, but there are still those who fear their return. Rumour has it that some of the chosen mortals, the vessels, may still walk the earth and even be amongst us today.

                For this is a time of swords, magic and demons. A time of heroes, thieves and sorcerers, where the forces of good and evil continue their eternal struggle. This is a time of warriors.


The sun was at its highest as midday approached. There was not a single cloud in the sky and the closeness of the humidity held all the people of the village tightly. It was too hot, especially for this time of year. Rain, and eventually snow, should be approaching, not this Gods-forsaken heat. The crops and livestock were suffering, and the villagers feared for a return of the sweating sickness that had ravaged their community only a few months ago during the summer.

Beads of sweat ran down Marshayl’s face, giving him a rancid, salted taste in his mouth as he pushed the empty cart on towards his home. He had been attending to his market stall, selling his and his wife Sharday’s wares. She was a magnificent seamstress and had made many items of clothing that would protect the people from the harsh sun. Hats and light thin cloaks provided the only protection that many of the land workers, who made up the populace of the small village, could use whilst still toiling amongst the soil and crops.

Clothing was not Marshayl’s side of the business though, fruit was. Kept cool in a dark cellar, all the workers bought the refreshing food, especially for the thirst-quenching juices they contained. Business was booming, but many of the villagers felt resentful over the family’s newfound success, especially with the rise in taxes. The coin owed to the realm had nearly doubled, worsening everyone’s moods and any extra earned or saved was consumed by the ruler’s greed. If it had not been for the prolonged summer, Marshayl would have been thrown in the stocks or dungeons already through lack of payment.

Everyone seemed on edge and it was not just because of the weather. Arguments had become an hourly event, curses had been sworn and blood had been shed on more than one occasion. The village healers had been kept busy by both the temperature and the temperaments. Yet after a week of these conditions, somehow everyone knew that this was coming to an end. Something was about to happen and all the tension would be dispelled. They all felt that whatever was to occur, would commence soon. Just what this something was though remained a mystery.

One of the wheels of the cart struck a stone and Marshayl swore loudly as it jerked upwards. He was trying to hurry but the more he did so, the more stones or cracks in the ground he seemed to hit. This strange second summer could end any day now and once it did, winter would sweep in very quickly. Demand for Marshayl’s stock would then plummet and he had to make as much coin as he could. He had to provide for his three young children and this, as any parent would tell you, was not cheap. Survival was not cheap or easy. For all of his twenty eight years he had struggled to survive and make a living. Now he had a family to care for and he had to provide for them.

As he neared his small homestead he was glad that he would soon be out of the sun, at least for a short time. He set the cart down next to the hatch, outside the house, that led down into the cellar. Picking up an old rag he dropped it into a nearby bucket of water. Marshayl then lifted the rag out, letting the water drip freely from it, and then proceeded to wipe the sweat away from his face and neck. Even though the water from the bucket was warm, it still felt soothing on his skin compared to the intensity of the sun.

From across the village, a movement, a shadow, something caught Marshayl’s eye that for a brief moment seemed out of place. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he shivered for absolutely no reason in the scorching heat. He quickly looked around him but could see nothing. Just ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, nothing out of place. Now the sun was playing tricks with his mind, thought Marshayl.

He turned away and unlocked the cellar door, the thick lock thudding into place. Such precautions were always a necessity with eager, wandering hands about. Marshayl heaved the heavy doors open and peered into the darkness. Sunlight poured into the cellar and it helped greatly as he clambered down the stairs.

Marshayl wiped away the sweat from his brow again as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The light coming from the entrance only illuminated so much of the cellar though and he had to peer into the darkness to see. All of the fruit had been picked early that morning, before the sun had risen, and had been stored in the cool darkness until it was needed. The first cartload had sold before morning was even over, this being the third collection Marshayl had made that day already.

His sight adjusted slowly but eventually he saw the baskets of apples in the corner. It still felt cool in the cellar but Marshayl knew it would get warmer as the day progressed. He picked up one of the apples and bit deeply through its skin, the juices dribbling down his chin as he ate the fruit greedily. As always seemed to happen, he forgot to eat while he was working and it was only now that Marshayl realised how hungry he was. Another of the apples beckoned to him but as he reached down to take it he felt the strange sensation again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Marshayl turned quickly, alarm all too clear in his eyes. He looked closely into the darkness all around the cellar and to the sunlit stairs but saw nothing. He instinctively reached for the dagger he knew was not at his waist and cursed himself for not bringing it. The blade had been left with Sharday, to protect her and the business, but now Marshayl would eagerly trade his entire stock for the weapon.

The creeping feeling did not leave him though as his skin began to crawl. His heart had started to beat at a frantic rate as his stomach began to lurch. Marshayl could not understand why he was feeling like this though. He did not see nor hear anything but he knew something was wrong. Then the world around him was plunged into darkness as the cellar doors slammed shut.

‘Who’s there?!’ called out Marshayl. He shifted back towards the cellar wall behind him.

‘Who’s there?!’ he repeated. The fruit-seller peered into the darkness again but he could see absolutely nothing. Then, there were heavy footsteps on the stairs.

‘I can hear you, who’s there?!’ Marshayl called out again. ‘If you want gold or jewels I don’t have any! All I have is at my stall!’

‘I do not want your coin,’ called out a deep male voice from the darkness. The man spoke slowly and calmly as he continued to walk down the stairs. Marshayl’s heart was racing now. He reached out in the darkness for something, anything that he could use to defend himself against the intruder. Apart from the baskets of fruit stacked around him there was nothing. There was no other way out of the cellar. Marshayl was completely trapped.

‘What…what do you…want then?!’ he pleaded, struggling to hold his nerve. The darkness intensified fear so much. It was unnerving, unnatural. Sweat dripped from his face again but it covered the rest of his body as well. A cold sweat, not brought on by humidity.

‘I am sorry,’ said the voice as the unknown man reached the bottom of the stairs. His footsteps were then replaced with the scraping of metal, the unmistakeable sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

‘Why are you doing this?!’ pleaded Marshayl, as he was finally able to see the dark figure loom towards him and it dawned on him what the intruder’s aim was. ‘I’ve wronged no one! I have a family!’

‘But you,’ said the assailant, again in utter calm, ‘are one of them.’ The air was filled with the sound of metal cutting through air and then skin, blood and finally bone.

Chapter One

In a darkened room where the only light provided was by candles, a single man stood silently. The man was in his early twenties, with thick, waved black hair and a thin yet strong face. He breathed slowly and calmly, his eyes closed and his body unmoving. On his cheek and forehead were two old cuts, already scabbed over and healing. He had workman’s hands, strong with scars covering them. The rest of him was lean yet muscular, no fat anywhere to be seen on his tall body.

Over a thick tunic he wore chainmail, iron rings linked together to form an armoured coat, the same armour worn by many of the soldiers who served in the army. There were a few small holes in the mail, more evidence to go with the wounds that the man had seen some form of combat recently. At his left hip hung a sheathed broadsword and at his right was a long slender dagger. The scabbards of both blades were worn, several deep scratches covering their leather.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes snapped open and he drew his broadsword. He held the sword up in front of him with both hands, the tip of the blade pointing skywards. Piercing blue eyes looked along the length of the sword, inspecting it. There was not a single flaw along the steel blade of the weapon and when he finally reached the point he took a step back and swung it above his head. The man then brought the sword down, stepping forward as he did so. He then raised the blade, as if to block an attacker, then lunged forward again to strike at an unknown assailant.

The man went through a series of assaults, parries and strikes, as if a real opponent or opponents were attacking him. Shadow-fighting. He moved faster and faster in all directions and when he came to a sudden stop sweat covered his face. Rising up to stand at full attention, as he had when his eyes were closed, he sheathed his sword. The man flexed all his muscles, the armour chinking as the links moved. He then took a wet rag cloth and wiped it across his face, washing away the sweat. Finally, he reached down under his armour and tunic and pulled out a leather band that was tied around his neck. At the large knot that tied it, small writing was scratched into the leather. Honour Courage Loyalty. He stared at the inscription for several moments, his thumb rubbing gently across the inscription, deep in thought.

A loud knocking sounded at the door of the room, before the heavy oak door opened partially, creaking loudly. The man pushed the leather necklace back under his tunic, roused from his trance, and wiped away the sweat that had again gathered at his brow before looking back to the doorway. A young boy stuck his head around the door, blonde hair covering most of his rosy face. He grinned broadly as he saw the fighter.

‘They are waiting for you, Garrick, sir,’ said the boy. The man nodded his acceptance and, picking up a large circular wooden shield, advanced towards the door.


The crowd let out a roar of applause as the small stadium erupted into life. To call it a stadium was a little imaginative as it only housed just over two hundred people, but it was filled to the brim and was the only arena within a day’s ride. The mayor who governed the town, Cheve Barusi, had once been a gladiator who had earned a fortune and his freedom in the games. A hard and stern man, he had used his winnings to build the wooden structure, which was made up of four stands for the crowd with preparation rooms for the fighters down below amongst the foundations.

After years of fighting in duels himself, he now enjoyed presiding over his own tournaments. His were not fought by slaves though, but by those who wanted to prove themselves and their skills. That was the idea anyway. Fighters from across the lands were to come and test their abilities in grand tournaments.

However, the reality was someway short of that dream. Regional tournaments very rarely brought the strongest combatants, especially as most of those would fight for their countries in the nationals, but a regional was the best Barusi could hope to host. The searing heat and the small crowd capacity meant that many of the better fighters looked to other shores to enter jousting, archery or sword tournaments. This would not dampen Barusi’s spirits though as he thoroughly enjoyed whatever the game was and whoever competed in it, especially as he hosted the events himself.

The unexpected heat had been a blessing as the spectators, and the tournament itself, had not been put off by the usual poor weather that accompanied this late time of the year. Better still, the crowds had not been scared away by the rising taxes, something that was hitting Barusi’s own purse hard.

Ignoring the taxes, Barusi focussed on the glorious weather and saw this as a positive sign from the Gods. The stadium was filled, he had made a lot of coin and the tournament had been a huge success. The competitors had put on a fantastic contest, displaying their combat skills in ever more deadly fights as the rounds went by. Several competitors had been badly injured, but luckily there had been no deaths, so far.

A drum beat loudly, signalling the crowd to be quiet and that the mayor was about to speak.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Barusi called out as the mass of people began to hush. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! And so, we have come to the final of our contest! We have seen some superb fighters and some brilliant duels!’ The crowd cheered loudly and the mayor had to quieten them again. The stadium may be small, and the gladiators may not have been the best in the lands, but the audience loved the spectacle.

‘We have seen experienced warriors humiliated by young squires and retired combatants defeat previous champions! But now we arrive at the final and I think we all agree that these two have by far been our best competitors! And so, without further delay, I introduce to you all, your champions!’ The crowd went wild again, cheering and screaming their support.

‘From the east side,’ Barusi pointed to his right, ‘originating from our very own town of Salerna, Darhius Samia!!’ The crowd roared at its loudest yet as the gladiator walked out into the centre of the arena and the mayor was not surprised.

Darhius was the favourite to take the title of tournament champion and there were more than a few reasons as to why. The first was his size. Aged in his early twenties, he was a giant amongst men, the biggest Barusi had ever known. Both tall and supremely muscular, he was also skilled with pretty much any weapon. He had hammered his way to the finals with brute strength and had only been tested by the more experienced opponents.

He was a favourite with the women too. Those muscles, a strong jaw line and the cocky expression that always seemed to be on his face, coupled with his easy going charisma meant that he was able to charm his way into the bed of pretty much any lady he set his dark, brown eyes upon. The only area he seemed to lack was upon his head where not a single hair grew. A large burn scar covered half of his scalp and Barusi had heard the tale several times of how the strong gladiator had gained that scar and it too was often used to woo the women. All in all, Darhius was a formidable opponent in every form and Barusi knew that more often than not, the giant succeeded in achieving any goal he set his sights on.

As Darhius walked out to the centre of the arena, playing up to the crowd and encouraging their cheering, Barusi saw that the young man had chosen to arm himself heavily for this encounter. In previous rounds, Darhius had worn little armour, instead choosing to display his physique, which met with great appreciation from the female spectators. He had also carried a variety of weaponry, changing for every opponent, including maces, flails, spears and swords. For this finale though, he wore chainmail armour across his torso and was armed with a fearsome battleaxe. It was large and heavy, the axe-head itself appearing brutally sharp and wickedly large and curved. It was a deadly weapon in the right hands, and Barusi very much suspected the hands of the human-giant were those. Additionally, Darhius also carried two sheathed short-swords at his hips, something the large warrior had not done in the previous rounds.

‘And from the west side,’ Barusi said pointing to his left, ‘also one of our own from Salerna, Garrick Chilver!!’ Although not as loud as for Darhius, the crowd cheered for the second gladiator as he walked out into the arena. Although he was not the size of Darhius, Garrick was still taller and physically stronger than most men his age and older. However, what he lacked in size and strength, Garrick more than made up for with speed and sheer ability. This was why Barusi had bet his coin on him. He had witnessed the young fighter rip his opponents apart with a level of skill that should have been beyond his years.

Barusi knew Garrick well having trained him himself many years ago in the ways of combat, and the mayor knew that this young fighter could not be more opposite to Darhius if he had tried. Whilst the giant basked in the attention he sought and received, Garrick was a far quieter man. He had grown up in this very town and had never really set a foot wrong. Garrick caught the attention of several women as well, with his thick brown hair, clean-shaven yet rugged good looks, and had many admirers amongst the crowd. He remained focused though and worked and trained hard.

As Garrick walked to the centre of the arena he raised a hand up to thank the crowd for their applause, showing simple appreciation, rather than playing up to the audience. This was another reason Barusi was a supporter, as well as how the gladiator was armed, exactly as he had been in all of his previous bouts in the tournament. Garrick also wore chainmail armour like his opponent and carried a two-handed broadsword as his weapon of choice, sheathed at his left hip. At his right hip was another blade, a dagger which he had yet to use in the tournament. Garrick carried a circular shield strapped to his left arm, something which he had not done in the previous rounds.

The two men met in the centre of the arena. No words were spoken and both fixed each other with hard stares. The anticipation of the fight to come had driven the crowd into a frenzy. Though there were only two hundred of them, the stadium was compacted so tightly that the atmosphere generated by the mass of people was overwhelming. Still the two men did not move. Even at this late stage of proceedings, Garrick still had not drawn his sword. The drum beat again and the crowd hushed, leaving the stadium eerily silent and the tension building.

‘Gladiators!’ shouted Barusi. ‘It is the same rules as before! First blood counts for nothing, only complete submission! Ready?!’ Barusi looked down on the fighters and, even though Garrick still had not drawn a weapon, both nodded that they were ready. ‘Commence the duel!’

At those words the crowd cheered loudly and the two gladiators began pacing in a small circle. They were testing each other, feinting strikes and looking for an opening. First, Darhius looked to draw Garrick in, swinging his battleaxe from side to side slowly, inviting his opponent to attack. When Garrick did not take the bait the larger man stepped back, attempting to lure his rival towards him so that he could attack. Again Garrick did not move, nor did he draw his sword or dagger, but continued to circle round, gripping the shield attached to his left arm tightly. Finally, Darhius’s frustration got the better of him and he lunged forward, thrusting the axe towards Garrick’s head.

Garrick ducked low and lunged forwards with his shield at the taller man. Darhius stumbled back as the shield crashed into him, but he quickly regained his balance and once again the axe came swinging towards Garrick’s head, causing the need to duck again. The two combatants stepped back and resumed keeping their distances again. The spectators were still cheering, but the gladiators were oblivious to this.

Darhius again shuffled forward and swung his battleaxe from side to side. Garrick watched the giant’s movements carefully, biding his time. Dust was kicked up by the movements of the two men and both of them felt their lips and throats instantly dry out. Sweat trickled down their faces but neither shifted their attention from the man before him. The tension and anticipation was building again in both fighters, until suddenly Darhius attacked again.

The axe swung fast, first from the left, then from the right. Garrick moved quickly and both strikes glanced off his shield, large splinters of wood flying out of its centre. Again Darhius attacked but hit nothing except his adversary’s shield. Frustration grew in him again and he charged forward, the axe raised above his head ready to deliver a crushing blow. At that moment Garrick dashed forward, shield raised. Instead of hitting Darhius though he lifted the shield up and pushed it towards the axe as Darhius brought it crashing down. The axe-head ripped through the shield and stopped just short of Garrick’s arm that it was still strapped to. Darhius pulled back at the axe but it was firmly lodged in the thick wood. The giant of a man pulled again harder, dragging his foe forward, but the battleaxe still would not come free.

Suddenly, Garrick pulled his arm away of the shield’s straps and hammered his fists into Darhius’s stomach and then up under his chin. Darhius staggered back and gasped hard for air, winded by the blows he had taken, but quickly threw the trapped axe to the ground and drew his swords. Garrick had already finally drawn his own blade and the broadsword glistened in the sunlight. Darhius lunged forward again, the anger all too clear in his face as he roared and charged. He rained down attacks on Garrick with the two short-swords and the opposing combatant blocked each attack skilfully, but was being pushed back towards the edge of the arena.

Then, just as it seemed he was to be overwhelmed, Garrick went on the attack. The broadsword came at Darhius from all angles at increasing speed. The bigger man was hard pushed to stop the large blade from hitting its target, even though he was armed with two swords, and he gave ground very quickly. Every time Darhius attempted to strike out his attack would be parried and he would have to defend against Garrick’s sword, which came at him again at an inhuman speed. Soon the two fighters were in the centre of the arena again and all around them the crowd were cheering loudly. Neither man’s strikes had yet hit home, but it was clear that in the scorching heat both men were tiring.

Garrick’s broadsword came in fast again but this time the larger fighter used both of his swords to block the attack. Darhius caught Garrick’s blade between his own two and the giant’s shoulder barged into his foe hard. Garrick stumbled forward and lost his grip on his weapon, the blade falling to the ground. The taller man then rose, a broad grin spreading across his face. Darhius held both his swords high, acknowledging the coming victory that was surely his to the crowd. He kicked Garrick’s sword so that it was far behind him and knew that it would not be used again in this duel.

Garrick watched his opponent, but did not draw his remaining weapon, the dagger that still hung at his side.

‘Let’s end this!’ called out Garrick. The larger man laughed loudly as he turned to face his adversary. Darhius raised his swords, ready to attack and then launched one final charge, teeth bared as rage overcame him. Garrick sprinted forward and dodged the giant man’s first sword to come towards him. He ducked below the swing of the second blade, getting in close to his foe. Garrick’s fist crashed down on Darhius’s nose and he could feel the bone break beneath his fingers. Without waiting to see the damage he had inflicted, Garrick grabbed the hilt of the nearest sword to him and brought his knee up into the hand that held it. Darhius instantly loosened his grip on the weapon, roaring in pain as his hand was crushed and Garrick wrenched the sword from the giant’s grasp. He took a few quick paces back and again both combatants faced each other, both armed with one of the short-swords.

Darhius’s nose was definitely broken and blood poured down from the wound. He wiped some of the blood away from his mouth and a grin had again appeared on the man’s face. He brought his sword up so that the hilt was before his face, the point skywards, in the soldier’s salute. Garrick smiled himself and returned the salute. Then both men lunged forward and went on the attack.

Blow after blow was parried by both men and it soon became apparent that it was now a test of perseverance and stamina. Occasionally sparks flew from the fierce meeting of the swords. Darhius’s strength was an equal match for Garrick’s speed and both men knew one of them would make a mistake sooner or later.

Darhius moved to force that mistake as he brought a fist down onto the man he faced. Garrick twisted to dodge the strike but it still caught him on the side of the mouth. His bottom lip split open and now both men’s lower faces were dripping with blood. They did not slow though. Their swords crashed down against each other and any man really could win this contest. However, it was not a tournament between these two. To them it was a battle and a struggle to not only defeat the man, their opponent, but to survive.

Garrick lunged forward low and again Darhius parried. This time though, the larger man put a vast amount of strength in the parry and trapped Garrick’s sword against the ground. Again the larger man barged forward, attempting to knock his opponent over and disarm him as he had before. This time though, Garrick knew what was coming and as the larger brute came thundering towards him he released his sword and simply stepped back. With the speed of an assassin Garrick finally drew his dagger and, as the larger man stumbled past him, brought it around his neck so that the blade lightly touched Darhius’s throat.

‘The next choice you make…will decide your fate,’ whispered Garrick in between deep breaths. Darhius dropped his sword and raised his hands high, signalling that he had surrendered. The crowd cheered louder than ever before as the contest was at an end. Garrick pulled his dagger away and sheathed it as Darhius turned towards his victor. At first he looked like he might strike Garrick but the broad grin appeared on the giant’s face again and he even laughed. Darhius held out his arm and Garrick clasped it with his own in the soldier’s embrace. Darhius clapped his other hand on Garrick’s shoulder and he obviously seemed pleased for his opponent, despite the fact that he himself had lost.

The drum sounded out repeatedly, trying in vain to quieten the crowd, and it took a while for the spectators to calm down enough so that Mayor Barusi could be heard.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen!’ the announcer said excitedly, a big smile across his face. ‘Congratulations to both of our finalists for a fantastically hard fought and skilful duel. I now have the pleasure of announcing the victor of our tournament! Garrick Chilver!’ The crowd went wild again and Garrick saluted them by raising his recovered broadsword to the sky, pumping it hard into the air in triumph.

Copyright. Edward Drake. 2011

  1. TomSaxon says:

    Really good and am especially intrigued by the intro. Any plans to publish a full book?

  2. Mark says:

    Any more chapters?

  3. Suzy says:

    Really good, are you going to put any more chapters online? How long is the first book and does it follow the main hero all the way through the series?

  4. Edward Drake says:

    Thanks for the comments.

    I would love to get Destiny and the rest of the series published but as yet there are no plans to.

    Regarding more chapters, I may put up the next couple in the next few weeks.

    Suzy, Destiny is 32 chapters long and the series follows the main hero, Garrick, as well as a whole host of other protagonists through the course of the story.

  5. Andrea says:

    More chapters please!!!

  6. Chris says:

    You should definitely see about getting this published. Would love to see how the book pans out, especially with regards to the rest of the series.

  7. DarrenD says:

    Really enjoyed that. The intro was very intriguing, as was the prelude. The chapter was brilliant, good action and a good set up for the characters. Hope you upload more chapters!

  8. Megs says:

    Brilliant, would love to read more and learn about the characters more!

  9. Edward Drake says:

    Andrea, DarrenD, Megs, I am looking over a few of the chapters this weekend and may put one or two more up. Stay tuned.

  10. […] HomeProfileThe Warrior’s JourneyOutlawsA Beaten And Haunted HeartBefore Your EyesBetrayalBrothers To The EndCollision CourseDarkest SacrificeLove At SunsetMy CurseThe War At HomeTravellerWhirlwindWorthy of Knighthood […]

  11. […] HomeProfileThe Warrior’s JourneyOutlawsA Beaten And Haunted HeartBefore Your EyesBetrayalBrothers To The EndCollision CourseDarkest SacrificeLove At SunsetMy CurseThe War At HomeTravellerWhirlwindWorthy of Knighthood […]

  12. […] HomeProfileThe Warrior’s JourneyOutlawsA Beaten And Haunted HeartBefore Your EyesBrothers To The EndCollision CourseDarkest SacrificeLove At SunsetMy CurseThe War At HomeTravellerWhirlwindWorthy of KnighthoodA Storm ApproachesBetrayal […]

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