Legacy of the Highborn Read online

  Legacy of the Highborn

  Legacy of the Highborn, Volume 1

  T. J. Stufflebeam

  Published by T. J. Stufflebeam, 2021.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Legacy of the Highborn

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  About The Author

  Author Interview

  Dedicated to my Father, who from an early age discovered my love of storytelling and helped make the impossible, possible.

  THE BOOKS TO COME:

  Legacy of the Highborn (Book 1) - October 2020

  The Magician’s Con (Standalone) - February 2021

  Spirit of Valera (Book 2) - October 2021

  With Hammer and Hope (Standalone) - February 2021

  The Star of Amaryllis (Book 3) - October 2021

  Follow on Facebook for Weekly Updates and Previews to upcoming books and stories. You’ll also have a chance of becoming a beta reader before the book is released.

  Go to: facebook.com/stufflebooks

  This book is a work of fiction, Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is extremely lucky due to being a fantasy book.

  Copyright © 2020 by T.J. Stufflebeam

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Chapter 1

  Destin slammed onto the ground, letting out a groan of pain. An orc stood above him smiling, his yellow eyes glittering with malice. Gray skin and black spidery veins bulged as it threw a sword down beside him. The orcs around them roared in approval at what was about to take place. He pushed himself up from the rugged ground of the mine and grabbed the sword. Destin knew what was coming, and his heart sank at the thought of it. He wiped his sooty hand across his sweaty forehead and inspected his dull blade.

  A burly man was pushed into the circle, looking as dazed and confused as Destin felt. With sword in hand and both in the circle, the multitude of orcs growled and roared for them to begin the fight to the death. Mere entertainment for these monsters which encircled them.

  Survival in Vertrock was the only option and the slave didn’t hesitate to charge at Destin. Avoiding the blade, Destin swayed to the side and tripped the man. The slave spun around, quickly rising to his feet before Destin could strike, and returned with a lunge. Destin parried each attack with ease, countering and defending himself.

  Destin could see fear cloud the man’s eyes as he realized his fate was sealed. He would die today, and nothing the slave could do would prevent it. The pain of taking a life continually haunted Destin, but knowing there was no clear path of avoidance, he made sure to always make it a quick death.

  The slave gave his final battle cry rushing in with his blade lifted high. Destin blocked and guided the sword to the side. He kicked the man back before plunging his sword into his opponent’s chest. The man gasped as his lungs tried to draw in air, but to no avail. His eyes dimmed as his soul finally left him.

  Destin fought back tears as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  His borrowed sword dropping to the ground from his nerveless grip. The steel clanged and echoed throughout the entire cavern, but was drowned out by the victorious cheers of the orcs. Destin fell to his knees and looked for answers among the shadowed reaches of the mine’s ceiling as he wondered what he did to deserve this damnation.

  The main cavern stretched to the highest points of the mountain. The infinite number of tunnels lit by torches created an illusion of the night sky. The heat surrounded his entire body in a humid dampness, but he almost didn’t feel it anymore.

  Destin’s attention jerked back to the ring of towering creatures as an orc walked over to the fallen slave with a grievous smile. It paced forward slowly, stabbed into the man’s spine confirming the kill. The gathered orcs started to disperse as they traded coins while laughing at the cooling corpse. It would be left to rot. One of many populating the caverns.

  Destin composed himself before getting to his feet to return to work mining ore for these cursed creatures.

  The island of Solitude used to be the home of the dwarves. However, that changed some twenty years ago when the orcs invaded the prosperous dwarven mine of Vertrock. They now exclusively owned the abundant resources of the island, profiting from the labor they gained from their prisoners.

  Death was the reality of this place, new slaves introduced to the prison camp would maybe last three weeks. That slave was lucky his death was so quick. Destin counted it a mercy, almost wishing it was him.

  The death toll this camp witnessed on a daily basis preyed upon his core, he felt as if it was an omen to his own eternal hell. One day soon, he would make his last unforgivable mistake, and like that slave, he too would breathe his last breath before adding his rotting remains to the millions of faceless others.

  The futuristic dwarven machinery crawling through the mountain was a spectacle in and of itself and added an ominous glow to the flickering light of the torches. The numerous containers moved along rail lines carrying ore through the mountain to be taken and stored, where it waited to be delivered to Alluvion. Destin always admired the dwarves for their ingenuity and innovation.

  “Three days.” Destin muttered to himself in absolute disgust. It was all the man had survived. He turned away from the dead body shivering at the thought of the slave’s final moments. He started to make his way back to the tunnel he was dragged from. He had to keep working. Blend in. The less attention the better. Survive.

  Destin found his spot and stooped to pick up his pickaxe. He matched his breathing to his pickaxe’s rhythmic hits against the mountain, calming him down.

  “Focus on the task at hand. Three hundred and seventy days conquered. One day more.” He counted every day he had spent there to keep his sanity in check. Looking back on what he had survived fueled his fight to press on. The outside world felt like only a dream at this point, a dream that would once more become a reality.

  “Area experiences heavy storms two to four times a week, overcast otherwise,” he whispered. “Five orc guards for every group of slaves.” Another hit clanged against the rocky wall. “No more than two hundred orcs in this camp.” He wiped his dirty blonde hair back from his sweaty face, smearing more soot upon his dirty face.

  Destin continued to pick away at the wall in the cavern, rehearsin
g everything he had memorized in the year he had been here. He picked up the pieces of ore, and added as much as he could to the cart already piled high with the mineral. The rest he packed into his bag to be carried out. He surveyed the status of the eight other men with him, all frailer than he. “The fortress contains the only ex...”

  “Silence yourself!” A worker hissed under his breath to Destin. The man swung his axe again into the mountain keeping pace with the other slaves. Destin glared in annoyance at the slave. His glare softened slightly at the almost imperceptible shake of the slave’s hands. He was just scared, like the rest of them.

  Refusing to be fazed by the slave, he wiped his hands on his tattered shirt, and went back to work. Whispering to himself helped him to see things more fully, since he didn’t have any paper to keep track.

  The dimly lit cavern constantly echoed with the cacophonous, rhythmic sounds of the slaves picking away at the mountain. Counting the swings of your pick did little for counting time and losing yourself to the memories of the outside world would cause madness. Collecting ore had little satisfaction, but if it kept him alive, he would do all he could.

  The rhythmic thud of an orc marching behind them suddenly stopped behind Destin. A shadow loomed over him, foreshadowing the pain that was sure to follow. “Quiet croul!” thundered a growling command, as Destin was grabbed forcibly by the neck and thrown to the ground in front of the other slaves.

  Croul. The orc word for vermin beneath the earth. Never human. Never dwarf. Never elf. Not even a living creature. Croul! Never more, always less.

  An orc’s strength greatly outmatched any humans. However, the colossal creature pinning Destin down with his foot easily outmatched the strength of three men. No orc challenged his authority, and neither did Destin.

  From the ground Destin looked up, seeing who the attacker was, Druvairurk. Monstrous, vile, heartless. The fear his presence struck in men was unmatched by any other. There was a proven reason why he was a captain over this encampment, and he made sure everyone remembered their place. His menacing glare and kick to Destin’s gut instantly stomped down any hope for mercy.

  Druvairurk snarled and kicked him once more, robbing Destin of air as he attempted to cry out in pain. The orc followed up with the crack of his whip across Destin’s back, opening a large wound. Pain ran through his entire body as the captain growled and walked away, leaving Destin on the cavern floor wheezing in agony.

  A power stirred inside Destin, feeding off the growing pain. “Not now!” He mumbled to himself suppressing the surge. A dim light permeated from his hand, but he quickly clenched his fist to his chest to hide it. The power subsided returning to his core, his hand dimming with its retreat. Destin let out a sigh of relief, by some miracle being able to control himself this time. The manifestation of white light would give him away and he could not allow that to happen.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to a dwarf slinking from shadow to shadow watching Destin while he passed by. A bag of tools resting on the dwarf’s shoulders barely made a sound, hinting at how agile the dwarf was. Destin had seen the dwarf slinking around the mines during the year he was forced to toil in the mine.

  He felt a trickle of blood running down his back, the rags he wore more tattered now and barely absorbing the stream of blood that cut through the mine’s dust. He always feared infection, but he didn’t have access to medical resources to clean the wound. He had watched a number of people die from the cuts they received while being whipped. Destin was amazed that his shirt held together, the pain still stinging across his entire back.

  Destin inhaled deeply while he closed his eyes, which allowed him to regain control. The pain lanced through his back, but he still struggled back to his feet. He needed to get back to work. He gripped his pickaxe, raising it up and starting the rhythm again. Destin grit his teeth as a flicker of pain raced up and down in protest of each swing.

  There was a way to escape. He was going to find it. Once he reached the outside world, he would continue his search for answers. Destin recited his observations again, but a little quieter to himself. He worked through the defenses, the schedules, meals, anything that he thought would help.

  Destin flinched at the outburst of screeching as the ground around him shook. The orcs guarding him bolted towards the noise. The slaves remained in their positions, but Destin’s curiosity got the better of him as he crept to peak around the corner. He was startled to see billowing smoke and sparks coming from one of the machines. The dwarf from earlier threw a tool at the control panel in anger, spewing curses at the misbehaving machine.

  The orcs growled at the delay the breakdown created. “No, you don’t understand it’ll take hours to get it fixed.” The dwarf protested. “I’m one dwarf. Maybe next time don’t kill all the others who know how to fix these machines.” He bent over and picked up the tool to get back to work. “Go about your day, this isn’t an easy fix.”

  Initial surprise washed over Destin at how the dwarf talked to the orcs. Something he would never dare, though desperately wanted to. He leaned in to get a better look when a tug on his shirt was his only warning as he was picked up and thrown to the ground. He hit the ground hard, and he knew there was trouble.

  An orc raised his mace above his head. Its frustration about to be taken out on Destin’s already battered body. Destin covered his eyes, knowing there is nothing else he could do and accepted his fate. However, before anything could happen, he heard “Not this one.”

  He opened an eye to see what was going on. The dwarf stood in front of him, shielding him from the orc’s strike. “You need this machine back up and running, then let this lad help.” His eyes thinned. “It’ll be up twice as fast, you’ll see.”

  Showing his teeth, the orc lowered the weapon and spat at their feet returning to watching the slaves. The dwarf’s shoulders relaxed with a long sigh as he shook his head, “Ya know what they say about curiosity lad.” He turned around and offered a hand to Destin. “Now, we got some work to do if we both want to keep our heads.”

  Destin happily accepted the help, “Grateful for you, friend.” They both walked over to the broken parts, “So what exactly are we looking at doing?” He noticed there were no footsteps behind him. He checked back to see the dwarfs staring in surprise and anguish at the sight.

  “Your back...” He hesitantly said pointing, “Ya gonna be alright with those cuts?”

  The sting reminded him of the freshness of the wound. “Eh yeah, I’m a quick healer. I’ll be back to normal in no time.” Destin assured him. He checked the machinery which looked as though it had seen better days. Hoping to make it look as though he had some idea of what was going on, he pulled off the cover to gaze inside. “So, what happened, an overload?”

  The gears were well oiled, each of them various sizes, a number of belts spun, all except one which had snapped. Destin looked up to see the mountainous ladle filled with molten ore frozen in place. Fresh out of the furnace beside them, he could feel the heat radiating off it.

  Kneeling on the ground and retrieving his tools, the dwarf looked around puzzled. He began removing bolts one at a time, “To be honest, I didn’t need yer help. We will be back to normal in no time.” He poked his head out from the control panel. The dwarf subtly smiled through his graying beard, “You’re from the North, aren’t ya?” He must have noticed the subtle shock from Destin's face, because he continued talking while cranking a bolt with his tool. “What’s your name boy?”

  “Destin, and yeah, good guess. I’m from New Haven, born and raised.” He picked up the broken belt and handed it over to the dwarf. “We had storms there that made this weather look like nothing!” Destin’s excitement grew as he recalled present memories and he grabbed a blackened rock from the mud, “You know you could hold this rock to the sky and not be able to tell the difference between it from the clouds they were so dark!”

  “That is, if you were able to look up during the pounding of the ra
in!” The dwarf jested in his rich bass voice. “I do miss that coast! Downright stunning t’was, especially the stars and the stories they told. I sailed as a merchant nearly fifty years back, New Haven was a common port for us.” The dwarf offered Destin a tool, which he accepted, but was unsure of how to use it. The dwarf laughed, “Aye, just appear like ya know whatcha doin’ lad. Can’t have ya sittin’ pretty with the orcs near.”

  He hesitantly studied the bolts and went to work.

  “The stunning part was the cliffside on the east side of the coast. Overlooking the ocean and city below with the two moons illuminating the night sky.” He quietly laughed to himself while reminiscing, though changed the subject to try not to dwell on it too much. “So, sir, what do I call you?”

  Somewhat perplexed, the dwarf plainly responded, “No man has called me sir in a long time...” He sighed, “A long time. The respect shown to my kind has all but vanished, so I thank you for giving me this kindness.” The dwarf glanced around the cavern. He checked his surroundings almost out of habit, the fear in his eyes much like the other slaves. “The name is Goddar. You seem familiar somehow, I remember seein’ ya around a number of times.”

  Destin felt the strain the metal tool was placing on his arm, shaking under the weight. “By some miracle I’ve survived a year in Vertrock. So, yeah, I’ve been around.” He sarcastically joked.

  For Destin, sarcasm was one of the few ways he could remain sane. Although there was little peace to be had in enslavement, the occasional joke appeared to lighten the overall gloom.

  “How have you survived so long?! Seriously, you know how it is around here. I’ve never met another who lasted longer than a month!” Goddar remarked in bewilderment.

  Destin shrugged. “How long have you been here Goddar?”

  His voice quieted, his eyes looking up while he thought about it, “Well let's see, we have entered the second month of harvest and that would mark just short of twenty-two years!” He counted, handing Destin a new belt.