The war is over, but the battle begins...
A thrilling and fast-paced story of one boys determination to seek revenge in a war ravaged land. Jaydon Riler lives in a world where the weak are easily preyed upon, but one where gods and magic guide his every turn. If you are a fan of fantasy, celtic mythology and historical fiction alike, then the Stone of Radnor is the perfect read for you.
Fourteen-year-old Jaydon sees his family murdered by warriors led by the feared warlord Landis Thornheart. The land is littered with bandits and mercenaries, and Jaydon’s life is threatened at every turn. When Jaydon finds a sword, his father’s sword, he swears to take revenge on Thornheart. Meanwhile, Thornheart, guided by the fallen god Elokar, seeks a stone, a powerful link to uncompromising power.
Jaydon seeks help, and unwittingly finds it from unexpected sources...downtrodden soldiers from the old wars, a blacksmith and a mysterious servant girl, Raven. Together they take Jaydon on a journey that he never expected, one where he encounters the dark forces in a world of myth and religious conflict, and one where he discovers family secrets kept hidden along with his true birth right.
Jaydon’s eyelids fluttered awake to the sound of scratching. The dog was scrabbling and whining at the door.
Groaning, he lay on his straw mattress a while longer, wrapped beneath his furs and rough blankets, allowing his eyes to adjust to the greyness of early morning before heaving himself from the warmth of his covers with a grunt of annoyance.
‘Shush, Magen. Quiet now,’ Jaydon whispered between his teeth
Magen, a scruffy hound, with gangly legs and rough brown fur, turned her whiskery face toward him, nose glistening. She looked at him with pleading eyes, then turned to the door once more, paws scraping on the wood, continuing to whine.
Jaydon glanced across the room at his parents. Both slept soundly, still, under their furs. His father, snored quietly, strong arms wrapped around his mother. Jenna, Jaydon’s younger sister, beside them breathing gently, blonde hair strewn wide around her head, a few loose strands had strayed across her face.
With another groan, he eased himself off his bed, rubbing his face to wake himself. ‘Quiet, Magen. What’s the matter with you?’ The dog responded with another whimper. ‘Do you need to toilet, girl? Come on, I’ll let you out. But hush before you wake everyone.’
Jaydon crept to the door, bare feet padding on a floor scattered with the fresh straw his father had laid just yesterday, the sweet smell still filled his nostrils. He opened the door a fraction, a weak shaft of dawn light spread across the floor. Magen prised her head into the gap. Then with her nose, nudged the door wide enough to squeeze her whole body through and sprinted off into the gloomy morning.
‘Magen, come back. Stupid dog,’ Jaydon hissed, trying to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to disturb his sleeping family. Cursing under his breath he huffed to himself and shook his head. Well, you can wait until we’re all up and awake then, he thought, as he closed the door behind him, yearning to get back to the warmth of his furs. Then he heard a distant squeal. The hairs on his arms pricked with alarm. A cry of pain? Magen?
Jaydon, grabbed his boots from beside the door, thrusting them onto his feet, taking his spear and hunting knife he lifted the wooden latch as quietly as he could. Squinting through the tiny crack of the door, Jaydon cocked his head and listened. Nothing stirred except the fingers of early morning mist creeping along the ground.
‘Magen?’ he hissed as silently as he could. ‘Magen? What’s up, girl? Where are you?’
Silence.
Jaydon glanced behind at his parents, still asleep. Perhaps he should wake his father? No, he would only get cross for troubling him over nothing. He could deal with Magen himself.
Jaydon’s heart pounded like a galloping horse as he steadied himself.
Sliding the door open he heard a shuffling behind him. ‘Hey, you said you’d take me hunting with you.’ Jenna sat up in her bed, rubbing away the sleep with the palm of her hands, a strand of straw from the mattress stuck to her cheek.
‘Shush! I’m not going hunting,’ Jaydon put a finger to his lips. ‘You stay here.’
‘Why? What’s up? You have your hunting spear.’
‘Quiet, Jen. I don’t know. I’m going to check. It’s probably nothing, but stay here… go back to sleep.’
‘You should wake father,’ Jenna scolded, screwing her eyebrows, a familiar frown she wore as a warning to Jaydon.
‘Be quiet. I’ve told you, it’s probably nothing. Magen just ran off and I can’t see her. I won’t be a moment, she’s probably chasing after old Odric’s chickens again. If there’s anything wrong I’ll come back and waken father.’
The frown on her face grew to one of concern. ‘Magen? What’s happened? Where is she?’ Jaydon felt a pang of guilt. Magen was Jenna’s dog, although a working hound, she treated her more like a pet. They were always out in the meadows dashing through the long grasses, careering after each other, or Jenna would often throw her sticks to chase, which Magen would bound after with her gangling legs, tongue lolling wildly.
‘Nothing. Look, I won’t be a moment. Now go back to sleep.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ she said, pulling back her furs.
‘No. Stay here Jen. I mean it. If I’m not back within a few minutes wake father. Now be quiet, will you?’
Jenna huffed and pulled the furs around herself again, turning her back on Jaydon. ‘Magen had better be okay,’ she mumbled sulkily. ‘And you’d better not be hunting without me.’
Strapping on his belt and sliding his knife into the sheath, Jaydon squeezed through the door, closing it softly behind him and slunk out into the village. Making his way around the low wooden fencing that surrounded the small pig pen, he crept towards the other village huts, his spear gripped firmly in his hand.
He crossed a muddy path and waited against the wall of Ober’s hut. Like all the other huts in the village of Hardstone Woods, Ober’s had wooden walls with a great thatched roof. Jaydon had heard stories of towns in the north of Calaria, made of stone and rock. Castles with great towers that reached to the heavens. His mind struggled to picture such buildings.
He peeked around the corner. Still no movement—Where is that damn dog? Senses alert he moved stealthily around the corner, crossing the horse paddock.
‘Magen. Magen. Where are you girl? Come now.’ He called, letting out a low whistle.
Still nothing, just silence and the distant sound of dawn birdsong from the surrounding woodland.
Jaydon kept low; feet silent on the dewy ground. He paused at the far-side of the paddock, crouching by the fence. From within the paddock, a horse snorted. Ahead on the ground something caught his eye, partly hidden from the mist, a lumpy shape. Oh no, he thought. Please, don’t let it be.
Jaydon crept towards it; slowly the mist cleared, revealing the shape—Magen. Her limp body lying lifeless on the damp ground. An arrow buried deep between her ribs, its greying feathers spattered with droplets of red blood.
Kneeling next to her, Jaydon stroked Magen’s head, her tongue drooped out from her gaping mouth. Jaydon dipped his forehead to her nose, which still felt cold and wet on his skin. How would he tell Jenna? It had been him who had let her out, surely, she would blame him?
‘Silly, girl,’ he said to her lifeless form. ‘What happened?’ He scanned the ground behind Magen, spotting a trail of dark blood, which ended where she had fallen. Jaydon pulled at his ear as he thought.
In the distance, a sudden commotion as a flock of crows erupted from the trees in the surrounding woodland, squawking in alarm. Jaydon glanced up. Blood curdling screams ripped the silence apart, making the hairs on Jaydon’s arms stand erect. Armed men, some running, others on horseback emerged from the treeline of the woodland; roaring and whooping.
Others carried bows and lifted them, releasing flaming arrows that arced through the dawn sky, falling into the village, thumping into the ground and landing onto the straw roofs of the wooden huts. The thatch caught easily, a few embers burned then within moments the fires took hold and blazed furiously. From within the homes screams of surprise and terror emitted as the villagers awoke to the attack.
Heart pounding, throat dry, Jaydon grabbed his spear, which slipped in his sweating hand. The attackers coursed through the village, from around the scattered buildings a group of them appeared, armed with swords and spears, dark shadows in the drab morning.
Instinctively, Jaydon dived over the low fencing of the pig pen. Slithering on his stomach through the stinking mud he could feel the heat on his face from the surrounding buildings getting stronger as the fires raged.
Worried that the glow from the fires would give away his presence he slid on elbows and knees through the sticky mud, he turned his head wildly to the chaos surrounding him, trying to conceal himself within a dip in the ground. Screams of the villagers penetrated through the roar of the flaming buildings. His whole world exploded into chaos.
Warriors rampaged in all directions, cutting down anyone trying to escape from their homes. Jaydon saw his friend, Ober, sprinting from his hut.
‘Run!’ Jaydon screamed.
Ober’s eyes searched for Jaydon, who waved frantically from the dip, beckoning Ober toward him. A look of recognition came to Ober’s face as he saw Jaydon, a face drawn with lines of fear. They had lived peacefully in this village their whole lives. Fierce warriors and battles were stories told around open fires, it did not happen to them, not here in Hardstone Woods.
Ober began to move toward Jaydon, but as he stepped forward he stumbled, with widened eyes and fell to the ground. Through the narrow gaps in the fence, Jaydon stared at Ober in silent horror as he lay face down, still and lifeless. His life-long friend’s body lay half-hidden in the wispy mist, a spear lodged deep between his shoulder blades, shaft pointing to the sky above. Helplessness washed over Jaydon, move, he told himself. Summoning inner strength, he crawled further into the shadows. Sliding on his stomach through the sticky mud, using the misty ground as cover, trying not to glance back at Ober.
The pigs in the pen squealed in fright, heavy bodies pushing against each other in panic. Jaydon had to fend them off to stop them from trampling him, shoving and prodding them away with his spear. Batting them back as they sought an escape from the chaos. Still on his stomach and caked in mud and pig dung, Jaydon forced himself further into the wooden-slatted pigsty, squeezing in tight and wriggling his body around to peer outside, his spear still clutched tightly in trembling hands. His heart turned to ice as he heard the shrieks from his family trapped within. His family home, violently ablaze, with thick black smoke rising upwards, changing the dawn sky back to night. Tears streamed down his face.
Jaydon’s heart thumped wildly. He should run and help, but it was just him with his spear. One fourteen-year-old boy against dozens of seasoned warriors. He’d be powerless against them. He shrank back into the protection of the pigsty, as yet it still remained unscorched.
Jaydon’s hands shook. He tried to summon some courage. Come on Jaydon, come on. He imagined himself dashing forwards, screaming out his rage, plunging his spear again and again into the flesh of the warriors, avenging Ober. But his legs wouldn’t move. His whole body shook like old man Odric.
A large human frame erupted from the door of his home, roaring loudly, broad sword in hand, swinging wildly, flames streaming from his clothing. ‘Father, Father!’ Jaydon screamed.
The waiting warriors surrounded the flaming figure of his father. Despite the flames blazing from his clothing, he cut down the nearest of them with a wild swing of his sword, taking his head clean off his shoulders. A second lunged toward him, but he feinted to his right, swung back and drove the sword through his stomach, the man wailed. His father, now screaming, as the fire began to overwhelm him. Yet somehow, he kept going, fighting on, Jaydon knew not how, as he watched his father withdraw his sword from the kill to run at a third warrior with an ear-splitting roar, his sword held aloft.
A giant, broad-shouldered man atop a black horse surged forward, slashing his sword across his father’s face, who crumpled onto his knees as fire consumed him. From the melee, another warrior stepped forward, hefted a war-axe over his head with both hands and brought it crashing down onto his father’s skull, splitting it in two. Jaydon’s father slumped forwards, crashing face down into the muddy ground, the flames had now reached his hair, engulfing his corpse.
‘Noooo!’ Jaydon screamed, sobbing. ‘Nooo, no, no, no.’
The man on the dark horse laughed, hawked and spat at the burning body, hissing curses. Then he turned his horse around and scanned the village. Jaydon heard him issuing orders to one of the men, gesticulating with his arms and sword.
‘You, Kitto. Gather a band of men and stay guard over this house – no-one flees it alive. When the flames have died down search it inside and out. I am looking for a red stone. No bigger than a child’s fist. It must be here somewhere. Search the whole village, leave none alive.’
Kitto nodded. ‘Yes, lord. Is the stone precious?’
‘It is to me, and it must be found. Check for any trunks or hidden places – don’t let me down, Kitto. Oh, one more thing. Make sure all of Riler’s family are dead. I’m led to believe he had two children…a boy and girl. They should be in there,’ He pointed his sword to the burning hut. ‘I want none of his blood-line to survive – do you understand?’
The warrior turned his horse, leaving the men to carry out his orders. Kitto spat on the ground in front of him. ‘I ain’t murdering no kids.’ He said to one of the men to his right. ‘They’ll burn in there anyway. We wait as the lord said. If this stone is not there, then it can’t be found. I would rather have silver and gold than a stone.’
The men around him nodded their agreement.
The words hit Jaydon as he remained hidden in the shadows. They came for his father? And wanted him dead too? He felt bile push at his throat. Then a realisation; he knew of the warrior on horseback. That scar running down the left-hand side of his face, a pale line running from below his eye and through his heavy beard. The dark winged eagle tattooed on his forehead. Landis Thornheart, an enemy of his father from the old wars. Wars that had raged across Calaria for generations. Jaydon had been told the stories, and there was no mistaking the murderer of Stefan Riler.
Then his mind turned to his mother and sister, still trapped inside the hut. Jaydon spun his head back toward the family home, the screaming had ceased, the building engulfed in flame, then a crack and dull thud as the beams of the roof collapsed inwards. Jaydon clasped his hands over ears, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Shielding himself from the horror. His heart pounded, blood pulsed in his ears as he trembled, muttering silently to himself.